


In the grip of the Dragon

by Urbanvix



Series: In the Grip of the Dragon [1]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Bond, Blood Drinking, Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, Evil Ending, Evil Reid, F/M, Look after your sub, M/M, McCullum isnt adjusting well, Porn with Feelings, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Turned Sean, Vampire McCullum, Vampire Swansea, elisabeth is dead, occasional dubcon, the smut has arrived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-01-16 10:17:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 67,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21269414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urbanvix/pseuds/Urbanvix
Summary: Reid saw his own jaw-muscles tense through McCullum's eyes. To McCullum, his eyes were still blue, his skin pale but human, a walking deception. He saw the hint of fangs. He saw himself smile.“Oh.” Reid nodded, “Don't misunderstand me. I'm long done with justifying my actions. We're still talking about you, Geoffrey.”***Elisabeth burned, and Dr Jonathan Reid let her go in the end. He was never what she needed to save her. With the epidemic resolved, the monstrous Dr Reid has no immediate plans for the rest of eternity, but he's not in a hurry to find them. They will come, in time.Meanwhile, in London, Geoffrey McCullum held it together to face down his maker in the cemetery, but the truth is he's not adjusting well. He has one certainty to hold onto : He is a Vampire Hunter. So it's time to hunt again.As they come together again, what will win out in the end; the man, or the monster ?This fangfic starts alongside the end of the game. A kink story of love, hate and blood, but also of the choices we make along the way. Spoilers ahead.UPDATE: Just adding some post-credits art :) Doing a lot of travelling over xmas so lots of doodletime.





	1. The Hunt Begins

Flames roared out of the dark to devour Edgar Swansea. 

It had been a clear night; empty and still and perfectly calm. The doctor had relished the silence. It was his own little triumph. Around midnight, he had roamed the corridors of Pembroke with his senses peaked, detecting each little malignant cough and growing pain in the sleeping patients. And he had dosed each and every one of them. 

Now, it was almost dawn and the corridors of Pembroke were quiet for the first time since the epidemic began. There was not a single cough or whimper. A triumph indeed. If all of the patients survived his improvised concoctions, he must make a habit of it. If not, well, a perk of immortality was a near-infinite time to learn, and to try and try again.

Then the flames came, roaring out from the walls, from his desk, until he could see nothing else. 

His chair slammed into the cabinet as he kicked backwards. He wanted to raise his arm in defence, but some deeper instinct took him. He pressed back against the window, feeling the sting of his fangs lengthening. He hissed – an unrestrained, animal noise – as he felt their heat. He had never acted this way before, not thinking, just reacting.

The flames licked upwards, hungry tongues that rasped flesh from bone. Sweet, perfect flesh falling in clumps. Black fabric charring and dissolving into dust. Blood to ash and bone. A hunger rising in his guts with the flames; the sensation alien and strange. It rose like a bitter laugh, like ravenous lust, like terrible grief. It rose and overwhelmed him. 

“Farewell.”

It broke like a wave, sending Edgar Swansea crashing down. 

When he opened his eyes again, the flames had vanished. 

Of course, they had never been there to begin with. His office was silent, unmarked, unburned. No evidence of any of it, except the sad pieces of his broken chair and his embarassment. He had read that powerful vampires could do that to their progeny, but to experience It was something else entirely. 

“Oh …. Jonathan,” Edgar whispered, “What has happened?”

****

In the same city, not as far away as Edgar would have liked, Geoffrey McCullum had seen the flames as well. Almost three days since he had lost track of Reid entirely, when he had felt his connection to his Maker grow strained and thin, when he had almost begun to believe that Reid might … just maybe... have failed and met his end, he saw the flames. 

His reaction was not animalistic. Unlike Swansea, he could process the storm as it rolled over him. These were Reid's thoughts, maybe even what Reid was seeing... feeling.... right now. The sensations that coursed through him were familiar, even if they weren't his. Sick humour, twisted lust and .. yes... grief. He knew those feelings well. He knew how to hide them. 

Dawn was coming and his vampire body was already becoming heavy with the need for sleep. But he held himself awake, remembering, analysing. 

_'The other side of the looking glass' indeed. _ He thought. _ We're really not so different, under the skin. _

Geoffrey McCullum, vampire hunter, leader of the Guard of Priwen, sat up in his narrow cot and snarled. He fought the sunrise. He fought the sleep haze and the unwelcome thoughts that had slipped into his mind. Unbidden, his right hand had dug out the bottle, unscrewed the top, and pressed it to his lips. 

The liquor burned. He gagged, spraying cheap whiskey across his sheets. 

A sad waste, but it did the trick. His mind was clear. He needed that clarity. Needed to think. 

He was bound to Reid by blood now. That blood might twist his thoughts, subtly compelling him to sympathise with his Maker. He had met Reid only once since the night the doctor had killed him. He had let Reid go, even helped him, telling himself that it was to stop the Disaster, to save London. Perhaps he had been right. But he had wondered, after that, whether the blood might be twisting his mind already, making all his decisions suspect. He had no way to know.

So, he ought to assume the worst and work to keep his mind clear. If not forever, then at least until he saw the leech again. McCullum didn't need to survive beyond that. He just needed to be there, clear headed and sharp. It was up to him to be Reid's judge.... his jury... and... of course... if need be...

The sun rose, and dragged McCullum into an empty, dreamless sleep.

****

“Your decision, Dr Swansea ?” 

“Hmm?”

“Doctor Ackroyd or Doctor Strickland ?” Nurse Branagan repeated. 

“Oh,” Edgar waved a hand, “I hardly think it matters, no matter those two might think. Give this one to Ackroyd and tell Thoreau that my decision was arbitrary in the end. He'll have his chance the next time. 

“Very good, doctor.” 

As she left the room, Edgar picked up the skull again, staring into its hollow eyes. For years, this skull had been his silent companion, listening whenever Edgar needed to talk through a problem. Now, it seemed absurd.

It had been two days, but the effect of Jonathan's 'contact' had lingered. His own animalistic reaction had revealed a side of his immortal condition that was foreign to him. He had always thought of vampires as simply more than mortal. Stronger, smarter, blessed with eternal life. Some of them lacked the drive to do anything but enjoy their bloodlust. But that, he had been certain, was a choice. It was a matter of character, before and after the transformation. 

Now, he wasn't so sure. Perhaps you had to pay for immortality with more than just eternal night-shifts. Perhaps something had to be surrendered. 

“Edgar.” 

The voice sounded at once far away, and very close.

“Edgar. Can you hear me ?” 

The world swam around him. His blood sang, filling the world with its song, its scent, its colours. And the shadow of Dr Jonathan Reid stood before him. 

Edgar swallowed, hard. “Yes, Jonathan. I can hear you.”

“Good. Then listen. Give up your scheme to take leadership of the Brotherhood, right now. It won't work. I have it on good authority that you wouldn't have a chance. You'd be wasting your immortality, nothing more.” 

“I-” Edgar was lost for words. He hadn't expected Jonathan to know so much of his inner thoughts. He hadn't even acted on them, not yet. 

“Second. I need you to look into something for me. I want to go back to the continent. I know the myths say that running water is a problem for our kind, but I also know many vampires fled England during the last Great Hunt. I want to find out how, what preparations I need to make, what problems I need to plan around.” 

“Yes, yes of course.” Edgar stammered. “But Jonathan ?”

“Yes ?” 

“Are... Are you alright ? I saw something, a few nights ago. I hadn't heard anything from you after you left London and then suddenly I saw... I felt... I mean …”

The shadow of Reid was dark, colourless, except for the catlike eyes. The irises pulsed red, and they seemed to skewer Edgar, robbing him of his words. The silence was a long one.

“Lady Ashbury is no longer of this world.”

“Oh, Jonathan, I am so, so -”

“Don't.” 

The word struck Edgar like a physical blow. He reeled. A single command, spoken cold and low, but it jolted through him and he had no power to resist, feeling every cell of his body yield to his Maker's will. 

More softly, the shadow said again. “Don't.”

Jonathan's eyes softened too. Edgar felt his body come back under his own control. A cold, seeping terror replaced that jolt of tension. 

“Yes, Jonathan.”

“I'm coming back to London to wrap up my affairs. Assume I'll be there in two days. I intend to stop on the way.” 

The shadow dissolved. The song in Edgar's blood went quiet. The room was empty. He was alone.

“Yes, of course.” His hands trembled as he removed his lab-coat. “Of course.” 

Edgar's eyes rested on the skull again as he buttoned up his winter coat.

“Did he mean to do it, do you think ?” He asked it, voice cracking. “Does he know what he's doing, or he still just discovering things as he goes along ?”

The hollow eyes seemed to mock him.

“I'm getting started because I'm shaken up by this unexpected turn of events. Inaction lets the mind wander. Action is the best tonic for uncertainty. This is my decision. I don't have to. I could do other things if I wished. I would know if I were compelled to, and I'm not..” 

The skull was as silent as ever, and Edgar realised that neither of them knew if that was true. 

****

There was still no sign of Dr Reid. Geoffrey McCullum drew a last, deep drag on the cigarette and flicked the butt away as he stood. At least that was one perk of his vampiric condition; no leg cramp on long stakeouts. 

It was clear that the 'good' Doctor Reid was no longer in residence at the Pembroke Hospital. At first he had wondered if his Maker was hiding from him, but it now seemed unlikely. Reid was gone. But all leeches left a trail, McCullum knew. He had just needed to find a way to pick it up. 

He had been watching for some hint of someone connected to Reid. Staking out the hospital had seemed sensible. After all, anyone with a connection to a vampire would hide it the moment he was seen on the grounds. It had felt fruitless, but McCullum could be patient. And now there was Doctor Swansea, Reid's bosom buddy and member of the Brotherhood of Saint Paul's Stole. McCullum watched the huddled figure slip out of Pembroke's back door, hunkered down against the grey London rain. The doctor hesitated for a moment, then chose an alley route, heading South. 

That alley was pitch black. No street lights at all. And Doctor Swansea wasn't carrying a lantern. But McCullum watched him scurry down it as quickly and easily as if it were broad daylight.

“No bloody way.” 

Dropping through the shadows to the ground, the Hunter picked up the trail at last.

*****

McCullum waited. It was winter, thank God, and the nights were long. He wouldn't need to worry about sunrise for hours. 

He had sensed two heartbeats inside, and one vampire Swansea. Eavesdropping was bloody impossible through the thick walls so he had waited, again. 

The building wasn't one McCullum recognised as belonging to the Brotherhood, but stalking around the property had revealed the small signs left as a signal to the Guard of Priwen. Clearly, they hadn't taken much umbrage to his violation of the truce at Pembroke. The signs were recent – a sure signal that the Brotherhood still expected their usual agreement to hold. For now, McCullum was willing to uphold his end.

He suspected, bitterly, that the reason the Brotherhood hadn't retaliated was because he had already been punished in their eyes. The vampire hunter was now a vampire. What punishment could the Brotherhood levy on him that would be crueller, more ironic, than that. 

After three hours, Swansea's huddled figure re-emerged onto the street at last. McCullum allowed himself a small, predatory thrill as he followed. He had those urges, sometimes. It was far better to satisfy them stalking some bastard who deserved it.

Stepping easily from rooftop to rooftop, feeling the shadows themselves ease his passage, he paced the doctor like a cat until the time was right. This thin alley between the buildings would give Swansea no chance to squirm away. He would need to turn and run back the way he had come, or run straight into the vampire hunter.

The shadows cupped McCullum as he dropped down. Thin tendrils, like smoke, curled away as he landed. 

Swansea jumped. He honest-to-God jumped half a foot in the air. Too right, McCullum thought, the bastard ought to be afraid.

“Good evening, Doctor. Bit late to be roaming the streets by yourself, isn't it ?”

“Oh, Mc – McCullum.” Swansea stammered, “I didn't see you.”

“That was the point, Doctor. Now, care to share what's got you roaming these dangerous streets by yourself, so late at night ? I thought you might be more cautious after our little run in.”

“Yes.” Swansea rallied impressively, “I suppose I should be wary of street thugs and fanatics, but I didn't realise any of you were here.”

“Careful Doctor.” McCullum said smoothly, striding forward. “I might take offence.”

He could almost taste the doctor's fear squirming beneath his bravado. McCullum's hand shot out and seized his trembling shoulder. He dragged Swansea up as the man tried to shrink away, staring into his red-rimmed eyes.

“You're a bloody leech, Doctor. And I'm still the Leader of Guard of Priwen, the best vampire hunter this city has. You might want to be more helpful.”

Swansea's eyes widened. “Really ?” 

“Really, what ?” 

“Really ? You're still,” Swansea stammered, “You're still with Priwen ? Despite your – I would have thought -”

McCullum barely thought about it. As the Doctor slammed into the greasy stone wall, papers burst out from under his coat. The impact knocked the smirk out of Swansea's eyes, and his fear came back. McCullum's hand was still locked around his shoulder. He yanked him up.

“I said, be careful Doctor.” McCullum leaned in and let his lengthening fangs speak for the pleasure he felt. “And be more helpful. Why are you out visiting your old friends ? And don't try to tell me it was a social call.”

“Geoffrey, the truce - “

“I think it unlikely that applies to the two of us anymore.”

Swansea's fear felt good. McCullum had fought his instincts when it came to hunting the unfortunate human residents of London. He was still their protector. But with Swansea, who he had loathed so much before his transformation, and who was surely partly to blame for his fate, he could release a little of the tension. As he pinned the doctor to the wall, he felt the hunger welling up. He had tasted Skal and Beast blood already – used it to sustain him this long. But the blood of another vampire – what might that taste like ? 

He leaned in close. “Tell me, Doctor. I'm looking for our mutual friend. Help me, and you might survive tonight.” 

Swansea was trying to pull away. But all he succeeded in doing was baring his neck to McCullum. The cold flesh was not tempting. But beneath it, the crimson veins pulsed, delicious, calling up memories of ribeye steak marbled red with blood. McCullum's body was swallowed by need. His strength over the other was intoxicating. Swansea was babbling now, but McCullum wasn't listening. He almost didn't care. He wanted to bite. He had the doctor powerless now. He wanted wanted - 

_Oh Jesus fucking Christ !_

He flung Swansea to the ground. 

_He wanted to fuck him. Fucking Swansea. _

McCullum felt sick. The doctor had always repelled him. That hadn't changed. But his new lust, his need didn't care. Bile rose in his throat... at least, it felt like bile, and the intoxication of the moment passed. McCullum felt soiled, filthy, guilty and resentful in a way he hadn't since he had been a boy caught masturbating in the barracks.

“Th – Thank you McCullum. You know, I really think if we try, we could establish a new working relationship that would benefit - ”

“Shut up, leech.” He found his centre in the rage. “ Shut up and answer my questions. It was Reid that turned you, wasn't it ?”

“Well, well, yes. Your men almost killed me, you know... did kill me, you might say. Jonathan just.. ”

“We're related then.” He said darkly. “That means you know how much worse a nightmare I am for you now.” 

McCullum fucking knew it. It was the blood, twisting his thoughts. Apparently being related meant something very different among vampires. 

“Yes. But I would hope - “ 

“Where is he now ?”

“I'm not sure, Geoffrey. I know he was travelling, looking for someone.” 

“The red head ?”

Swansea seemed genuinely surprised. “Well, well, yes.” 

“She burned.”

Swansea dropped his gaze. “Yes, I know.” 

Swansea began to collect the scattered papers, though most were now soiled with the wet filth of London's gutters. McCullum let him, using the time to fully centre himself. 

“Did you see it as well ?”

“What ?” McCullum snapped.

“Did you see her in the fire ? I don't think Jonathan meant for me to see it. I think he just felt so... so much. He couldn't help it.”

“Yes, I did.” He hadn't meant to sound so sombre, but there it was. “I saw it and I felt it. But it didn't tell me where he was.” 

The last paper lay at McCullum's feet. As Swansea crawled towards it, McCullum snatched it up between two fingers. It was mostly scrawl, barely legible, the ramblings of some Brother of Swansea's order. A few words stood out. 

“Sea travel and the vampiric condition.” McCullum recited. “So, our vanished Father intends to take a trip ?”

“Geoffrey, I can't... I can't tell you that. Doing so would be a betra-”

McCullum fixed Swansea with a glare, pinning him like an insect to a board.

“I... I don't...” Swansea faltered, then rallied desperately. “What do you intend to do ? I told Jonathan I didn't think making you a vampire was a wise decision, but I would rather be wrong than see him come to harm.” 

“That's between me and my Maker, leech. And if you don't tell me, you'll only be postponing the inevitable, and lose your head in the bargain.” 

Swansea sagged, entirely defeated. “He's coming to London in a couple of days. I don't know where he's going after that. I don't think he's decided yet. He just said 'the continent'. That's all I know McCullum, I swear.” 

McCullum believed him. His sense of Swansea's emotions made the truth obvious when it was spoken. He left the doctor to scramble in the muck for his papers. He needed to get away from him, away from the unholy, alien desire. He needed to get himself clean.

“For this, Reid. For this, I'll fucking kill you.” 

*****

As it turned out, it took longer than two days.

McCullum had used the first two nights well. The Ascalon Club members were hard to hunt down – the Great Hunt must have accounted for quite a number of them, he supposed. But still, he had managed to catch one. It hadn't begged for its wretched unlife. It had known, the moment it recognised McCullum, that begging was useless. 

So it had been surprised, and grateful, when McCullum had offered it a deal. It likely helped that his wooden stake was an inch into the leech's ribs at the time. He had told it what he needed, and sent it on its way with a promise of pain everlasting if it gave McCullum away to its colleagues. 

That settled, McCullum had prepared his arsenal. That done, he set out to feed himself to bursting. He had hunted Skals and Beasts, drinking deep and fuelling himself for the battle ahead. On the second night, he found a woman, dead drunk and at the monsters' mercy. He rescued her, but only just. The blossom of her blood was so tempting, and he couldn't help but wonder if her life might tell in the fight between him and Reid. 

He had stopped himself. She hadn't made it easy, being so drunk she spat insults at him even then. But he had stopped himself. 

The Ascalon vampire didn't need to be hunted down again. It was waiting at the arranged spot, making no effort to hide its nerves. He took the amulet it offered, along with the leech's instructions. It would protect him, to a degree, from the will of his Maker. 

He thanked the leech for its service, then drove his sword through its neck. The blood didn't go to waste, of course. He drained the leech dry before finally twisting the blade and removing its head. 

He had prepared as much as he could. Nothing left but to pray to God it would be enough, if God was still listening to the likes of him. 

So of course, Reid did not appear that night. When sunrise drove McCullum back to shelter, he carried his mantra with him. 

“For this, Reid. For this, I'll fucking kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ******  
End of Chapter 1. This is my first fanfic ever, so comments and advice very welcome but please be kind :)


	2. The Dragon Returns to London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan returns to London in a good mood. McCullum is waiting. It gets bloody.

Jonathan Reid, chosen of Myrddin, saviour of London, doctor, vampire, monster, took the train.

He had abandoned the car in Manchester and gone hunting. He was looking for something. But, if he was honest with himself – and he could not really afford to be anything but honest these days – he still didn't know what he was looking for.

He had been looking for Elisabeth, and now she was dead. He had been looking for answers, and now he had them. He had been looking for a cure to the vampire epidemic, and he had found it.

What now ?

After Elisabeth's death, he had indulged himself spectacularly. In London, he had fed only when he had time during his great hunt for the cure. Now, there was no reason to rush. The house had been a pleasant one when he arrived. He had left it like an abattoir.

Elisabeth hadn't condemned him, in the end. Rather, she had accepted him, and accepted that he could not give her a reason to live on. Mary had done the same, had she not ? It was a hard lesson. A lesson he ought to have learned as a mortal. As a doctor, he could only give people the chance to live. He couldn't give them a reason. He had tried, before the war and during it. He had tried to rouse people, to lead them to win through their injuries.

But he understood now what he hadn't wanted to face then. He couldn't make people stay when they wanted to go. It just wasn't in him. People like Sean could do that, and the Sad Saint was needed in this world. But the Sad Saint could not have killed Harriet Jones, even if Myrddin had Chosen him.

No one was universally capable. They had their strengths. When Elisabeth let his hand go, and stepped back into the flames, Jonathan had finally understood the lesson.

Well, so be it.

Jonathan took the train. It amused him that people couldn't see past his …his what ? His mesmerism? His glamour ? He would have to ask Edgar what it was called.... But it amused him that they still saw the mild doctor. A little pale, perhaps. A little dangerous. But that was all. They couldn't see the red-eyed dragon amongst them.

The press of their bodies in the rocking carriage was a tempting delight, like waking to the smell of toast. Jonathan had fed well, and he was sated. The sourer smells of piss and grime were nothing compared to the cosy contentment he felt as the train pulled into the station at last.

It was a grey night. He half expected to hear Skals howl as he walked the back streets. He half expected the arrival of the Guard of Priwen, urging him to turn around, before they recognised what he was and the slaughter began.

But the streets were quiet. Peaceful.

This is how he should have come home the first time. But he had already spent all the tears he had to regret that. He had moved on. Only the quarantine barricades stood to remind him of the misery he'd have faced, even if he had lived, and he rode the shadows over them without a second thought.

It took a cough, rasping and wet, to take him out of his reverie. He followed the sound without thinking, breathing deep to fill his vampire senses.

She was a young woman, huddled in a filthy blanket. This wasn't the Spanish Flu, or the Vampire Epidemic. Both were burning themselves out now. But pneumonia would carry her off regardless without help. He knelt before her.

“Hello, Miss. Do you need medical attention ? I'm a doctor.”

“A doctor ? Here ?”

“Yes, miss. I think you have pneumonia. Take this, three times a day until the bottle is empty. You'll feel better.”

“I... I can't pay.”

“I know, miss. Take it anyway.”

Her thin voice trying to call 'Thank you' and 'God bless you' followed him down the street.

What was he looking for ? Why did he do what he did ?

The reason was probably the same whether he killed or cured : Because he could. There was a real peace in not thinking, just _acting. _Maybe unlife would eventually throw something at him to snap him out of that, but he considered it unlikely. Eternity stretched before him, and he would ride it like the train, taking in the sights and smelling the sweet bouquet of human life until he decided on a destination.

Because he could.  
  
**********

Edgar Swansea had begun to worry, even though he knew it was irrational. Jonathan was more than capable. Leaving the latest rota on the nurse's desk, he forced himself back to his office. He was nervous, he wanted to get out in the fresh air, but it wouldn't do to leave the hospital now. His run-in with McCullum had shaken him, and he wasn't eager to run in to the Hunter again before Jonathan came back.

… If he came back.

Nonsense. He would be back. It might only have been a few weeks, but so very much had happened during those worst days of the epidemic. And Jonathan had always come back. In the meantime, he had a hospital to run.

He opened his office door to find the devil at his desk.  
  
“Good evening, Doctor.” McCullum said, levelly. He was sat, as comfortable as a cat, in Edgar's new chair. He had the skull in his hand, performing a clear parody of Edgar's own mannerisms. “Why don't you join me ?”

“McCullum !” He started, then tried again. He couldn't let himself forget how dangerous this man was now. “Geoffrey... this is hardly appropriate. Did you break my window ?”

“Oh, no. Just asked one of the nurses to let me in.”

Swansea flushed with anger, “That's irresponsible, Geoffrey. The Brotherhood has collected a vast amount of evidence that mesmerism can break a mortal's mind if you force them to do something they wouldn't want to do. You don't know any of these people. You never know who you might be pushing the wrong way.”

“Ha!” The laugh was cold, insincere. But there was a dangerous edge that warned Edgar to be even more careful. “Is that what you think of me, doctor ? You think I'd turn into a monster _so easily._”

Edgar swallowed his first retort, and said carefully, “I hardly know what you're capable of McCullum.”

The Hunter snorted, and put the skull back on the desk with its grinning face turned towards Edgar. “Why would I need to rely on vampire tricks when I have my natural charm and sweet brogue. More than one of your nurses fancies me. And one of the doctors too, unless I miss my mark. They let me in as a favour.” McCullum stood, and Edgar's eyes fell on the truly excessive amount of weaponry strapped to the hunter's torso. “Or perhaps because they hope I can protect them.”

“Yes, well. Everyone is still on edge after the epidemic, but they have no need of your protection, I assure you.”

“Is that so ?”

“Yes.” Edgar said firmly, “There have been no... no vampire attacks in this hospital since poor Harriet Jones. And that was part of the outbreak.”

“Ah, I see. No attacks since the last one, then ?”   
  
McCullum slid out from behind the desk, and began to cross the room. It was already too late for Edgar to try to head around the other side of the desk, to try to make it look casual, natural. The threat of violence was very real, and very close.

Edgar's throat went dry. “Yes. Yes, precisely.”

McCullum stopped, just a pace or two away. Edgar told himself he was holding his ground against the larger man, but in truth he didn't think he could move. It was absurd to think that McCullum had become a vampire on the very same night Swansea had. 

McCullum spoke very, very softly. “Did you lie to me, doctor ?”

“I don't believe so, Geoffrey.”

“And yet he's not here, is he ?”

“No... No... I don't believe so.”

“Well, then. It looks like we have an impasse.”

Edgar swallowed. “I hope not. A little more patience, and I'm sure - “

Edgar felt the air move, but not the blow. He had closed his eyes, scrunched tight against the terrible death awaiting him. The second stretched out, and went past.

The movement ended in the squeak of hinges. Door hinges, Edgar realised. His office door.

“Reid.” McCullum growled.

  
****  
  


Nostalgia crawled up McCullum's spine and threatened to disarm him, right there and then. Nostalgia for...what... less than a month ago? When he had been alive, full of certainty and ready to take on the vampire menace or die as better men had before him. God above, he had been naïve, certain that he had found the trail of a machination that tied together every thread of the stories Carl had told him – from William Marshall to the Brotherhood to the modern day. How had so much changed ?

He had locked eyes with Reid then, making his threat known. Locked, and held, and _felt._

“Geoffrey.” Reid replied smoothly. He smiled as his eyes flicked to the vampire quaking before him, “Edgar.”

McCullum grit his teeth around his hatred. No, little had changed. He had changed. Reid hadn't. And tonight, he would put that right. He pushed past Swansea, thrust out his chin and made his challenge. Once again, he met the doctor in the doorway of the office.

“Is the city saved, Doctor ?”

As Swansea scurried away to hide behind his desk, Reid's attention slid back. McCullum did not so much as flinch.

“The vampire epidemic is over, yes. The last source of the disease has been,” A pause, “Destroyed. Once the last few frenzied skals have been attended to, there will be no more. And from what I saw on the way here, I think your thugs are seeing to that.”

McCullum ignored the unspoken question : _Are they still 'yours' _? Instead, he smiled.

“Then there's a conversation we need to have.”

“I take it your thoughts on our relationship have … developed... since our talk in the cemetary.”

Jesus fucking Christ. How had this leech ever escaped Priwen's notice ? He was a predator.

“Consider it more an evolution of circumstances, doctor. The city doesn't need me to let you go this time.”

Reid nodded. “Then, for the sake of the patients sleeping downstairs, I would prefer to take this outside. Or, upstairs, if you'd like ?”

“Let's take it outside.” McCullum growled. In truth, he liked the idea of starting their final battle where the last one had left off. But the only way up there was an disused elevator and he didn't like the idea of being in such an enclosed space with Reid. Amulet aside, it would be too easy for Reid to disarm him and without his weapons, McCullum wasn't sure he could best him. If it came to fang and claw, the beast more familiar with those weapons would win. On that account, Reid had him beat.

McCullum stepped past Reid; another echo of their first meeting. But this time, he kicked something heavy. He glanced down, honestly expecting a goddamn body. The truth was stranger.

“Is that your fucking luggage ?” He spat, taking in the absurd sight of a gentleman's suitcase – a parody of decency next to the monster who owned it.

Reid's smile was almost sheepish, almost _charming_. “Well, I have been travelling.”

McCullum kicked it again, deliberately this time, and was about to retort when the smell hit him.

Just like Reid, the suitcase showed no stains. But just like Reid, it reeked of blood. The smell was so intense that McCullum _knew _that whatever godforsaken place Reid had come from, it had been drenched in it. He welcomed the prick of his own fangs lengthening in response to the smell and the hunger that came with it. It reminded him that he was a monster. And that he had come to kill the monster that made him.

So he said nothing, and turned his back on the beast.

**************

Strange, Jonathan realised. Elisabeth had never turned her back on him. Mary had never turned her back on him. And yet, seeing Geoffrey McCullum turn his back, Mary's words came back to him.

“_I have this nasty hole in my chest Johnny. It needs to breathe.”_

Geoffrey reminded him of Mary in that moment, and it honestly frightened him. Without really intending to, he reached out to his progeny's thoughts and heard... nothing.

That was strange too. So close to Edgar, and so much more in tune with his instincts than he had been when he left, he could hear his if he just listened. Not _all _of his thoughts. But the strong ones. That's how he had known that Edgar was in danger, how he had known to go straight to the office.

But he hadn't even suspected Geoffrey was there until he opened the door. The man was a walking silence. Only his body language spoke, and all Jonathan could hear was Mary's voice. That didn't just frighten him. It _hurt _him.

They left through the Pembroke front gates. If the doctors and nurses wanted to greet him, they had felt the coldness in the two men and known to stay away. Geoffrey stopped and inclined his chin to the doctor, barely meeting his eyes.

“This way.” Johnathon said, “I know a place. It's deserted now. There won't be anyone for us to disturb, or hurt.”

He took the lead. It was a very short walk. But it gave him enough time to think.

Even though he had now turned his back to McCullum, Reid wasn't worried that the Hunter would take advantage to drive a stake through him and end it there and then. But why ?

He had Made Swansea to save his life. It served Reid, of course, that it would also save the hospital, preserve the territory Reid considered his own and let him keep _something _from his first days as a vampire. But McCullum... McCullum had been a more personal choice. Swansea would always be the lesser vampire. Sean would always be a Skal. But in McCullum he had Made a threat to his own existence, and relished it.

It wasn't Geoffrey's coldness that hurt. It wasn't his obvious rage, his hatred for the creature who had Made him.. No.

_There's a nasty hole in my chest, Johnny._

No, it was the fact that she had wanted him to kill her. And in Geoffrey McCullum's affected calm, he sensed something very much like that. And he wasn't afraid that McCullum would stake him from behind, because -

“This is far enough, beast.”

Jonathan stopped. It was far enough, as it happened. There was no one left alive in this part of the neighbourhood. He turned.

“We don't have to do this, Geoffrey.”

“That's where you're wrong.”

“No,” He tried a different tack, “McCullum, listen to me.”

It had been the wrong thing to say – too close to their last conversation when Geoffrey had still been alive. His only warning was the sound of a crossbow click.

Reid moved with the shadows, zig-zag fashion, moving erratically to throw off the Hunter's aim. Bolts slammed home in brick, wood, steel – a line of lethal shots punching harmlessly into empty buildings. Shadows curved around Reid as he rose. Up to the first floor – his feet touching briefly on a broken balcony. Then he picked his target and drove into the hunter, landing with the force of a battering ram.

The Hunter grunted but recovered, grabbing Reid's coat to continue his momentum. It was elegantly done. Reid slammed into the cobbles as the Hunter unsheathed his sword and drove down, too slowly. Reid was already up, moving without thought, his own sword loosed. But he struck the Hunter with the pommel. As his enemy whirled to face him, Reid sidestepped and struck him again. The hunter sprawled, rolled, rose, struck.

Reid hissed as the blade sliced deep across his chest, parting muscle from bone. His fangs extended and the blood sang in his veins. With deep delight, he gave into his rage, his bloodlust, releasing the Beast within him to carve the Hunter's flesh to ribbons. He lost himself in the ripping, tearing, biting and then, he was back in himself, grinning. The Hunter stumbled back, found his feet, and raised his guard.

But the Hunter had disguised another movement. A movement Reid only recognised when the air around him burst into yellow dust, forcing his eyes closed as his flesh began to burn. The Hunter didn't hesitate. His sword sliced through the cloud, piercing Reid's chest, puncturing a lung but not the heart, as they hit the floor together.

Geoffrey had been blinded too. A daring gambit. It ought to have paid off.

But there wasn't time to appreciate it. He couldn't risk staying pinned. Claws burst from his fingertips as he raked upwards, catching his opponent under the jawbone, throwing him back.

With distance established between them, Reid had time to stand and yank the sword from his body, calling to his blood to heal as he did so. The flesh knitted just in time. The world went white hot and burst into flames.

As he was thrown upwards, his flesh screaming, he had a moment to analyse those fleeting seconds. Geoffrey had pulled a pistol... no, a flare gun... and ignited the Oralchium powder.

_Bravo. _Reid thought, as he slammed down on the road once again. _Very clever._

He had only a brief second to take stock, then the Hunter was on him, rolling him over, a wooden stake in a clenched fist raised over him. Claws again – a simple and brutal tool. But though they tore deep, he didn't have the leverage to throw the Hunter back.

“Dammit Geoffrey.” Reid snarled, summoning a spear of blood and driving it into his progeny's face. He bellowed and flinched back, then drove in again, backhanding Reid when he tried to rise. The force was incredible. Reid's ears rang but he didn't have the seconds to spare. He responded in kind, once, twice, driving the other vampire off with punishing blows.

It was only then that Reid realised why he couldn't fight back effectively. His legs. The explosion had destroyed his legs... As Geoffrey reeled, Reid called his blood again. The Hunter had missed his chance.

Facing one another, they stood. They were both unsteady. The Hunter lunged. Reid dodged. They danced, but it was clear they had both spent the better part of their energy. Jonathan had time then to take stock. He was growing desperately hungry, but he was almost whole again. The Hunter was in a far worse state. The Hunter – _Geoffrey, _he reminded himself, as he quenched the battle lust and forced himself to really _look – _could barely see. The flesh of his face had been torn to ribbons, one eye missing or damaged beyond use, the bone of his left arm stabbing cleanly out through his jacket.

“Geoffrey.” He lowered his voice, “You need to h-”

The Hunter shot him.

Jonathan fell. As he did, he had time to appreciate the manouvre. A nasty little sawn-off shotgun. Inaccurate, useless against a vampire on his guard. Clever. The fight seeped out of Jonathan as the cold crept in. He knew he hadn't enough blood to rise again – it felt like a hole had been punched straight through him. All he could do was lie on the stone and choke, and appreciate that if he died now, no one would suffer for it. London was saved. The Red Queen slept. It was about damn time to rest.

Geoffrey took his time about it, closing his good hand around Jonathan's lapel and dragging him up to face him. He was speaking, Jonathan realised, but he couldn't make out the words.

“What?” He said, or tried to say. His own viscera choked him. His vision swam, almost all colour draining from the world... except for one.

Goeffrey was no longer a man, a vampire, an opponent. He was a pale red flower, a thin red fountain, pulsing with unlife. The fight crept back into Jonathan's soul, and he reached out and froze the blood he saw.

A little, just enough, squeezed out through the flesh and into Jonathan's own, mending and knitting, healing and fixing. Not much, but just enough.

He pushed Geoffrey off him, and crawled to his feet, holding his side. When the Hunter could move again, he rose too, but slowly. Jonathan kept his distance this time.

When he could trust his voice, Jonathan repeated, “What ?”

Geoffrey spat, gasping. “I said... I know you're not done yet, you bastard.”

Jonathan couldn't help it. Despite the pain, a thin laugh wheezed out of him. “See... We agree on something, after all.”

“Fuck you. End this already.”

Jonathan was taken aback. “You've got to be joking.”

“No joke, beast. End it. Or I will kill you.”

Jonathan did not move, but he stretched his senses, inspecting the other vampire. Geoffrey was in a bad way, but Jonathan didn't doubt that he could still win this fight. His arsenal was not yet spent. And Jonathan... Jonathan was very much spent.

“You won't fool me again so easily, my _progeny_.” He chided gently, teasing, trying to goad his opponent. “I've learned my lesson now. Pain is a good teacher, and so are you.”

Geoffrey spat again, unable to find the words. But his rage, his desperation, rolled across the distance between them. And Jonathan understood.

“No,” He was certain now. “You're not going to kill me. And no, I'm not going to kill you.”

_There's a nasty hole in my chest, Johnny._

_You know I won't play this game._

“Fuck you.”

The Hunter was sinking to his knees. Even though Jonathan could make out his thoughts now, they were still too much of a mess to be sure he wouldn't make one last effort to destroy him. But Geoffrey dealt with that doubt. Moving awkwardly, painfully, he dragged the torn mess of his bandoliers out from under his coat. It seemed that Jonathan had torn through most of the Hunter's arsenal when he had let his bloodlust take over. He watched as Geoffrey pushed aside pieces of the torn and shattered mess, until he found one weapon still working.

The Hunter raised it with a small, grim chuckle through his torn lips. “You know... you know what I was taught to do if I ever got caught by a bloodsucker like you ? I should've done it then. But I didn't. I don't know why, but I didn't. At least, at least I can fix that now.” Despite himself, Jonathan felt a twinge of fear as McCullum lifted the gun and turned it to his own chest, poised over his heart. “Better late than never.”

_A nasty hole in my chest._

“Geoffrey, wait.” Jonathan didn't think. He leapt, pulling the shadows with him, reaching for the gun. But the tiny movement Geoffrey made was faster still, as he flicked the gun back around and fired.

The shot echoed. Reid stared at the pistol and then, as realisation dawned, at Geoffrey, then upwards, then back again. He smiled at his progeny and the gun aimed at the sky.

“Don't fuckin underestimate me again.” The Hunter snarled, and collapsed.


	3. A Hunter Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long overdue conversation, some wounds heal as others open, and Jonathan stakes his claim.

_Drink, Geoffrey._

Geoffrey wasn't sure if he'd heard the voice, or just remembered it. He tried to fight back to consciousness, but the haze of pain was too much. He had really messed up this time.

_DRINK_.

Moisture pressed to his lips. Moisture ...and something else. His lips closed around it and he lost himself. Every nerve lit up as his brain shut down, his whole being curled around the one, all-consuming need. He drank as he had been commanded. He drank deep.

They tried to pull away before he was sated and he fought for it, biting down hard, fangs lengthening into yielding flesh.

_That's enough, Geoffrey. _

Geoffrey disagreed. He wrenched his arms up and held on, fighting.

_ENOUGH. _

He let go. He had to. He slumped back in the bed, now certain that he _was _in a bed. The infirmary, he thought. Thank God. Whatever they had given him, it was good. It rolled through him in a wave of warmth, working its magic, bringing pleasure where there had been pain. He felt his cock stiffen against his trousers and reached down to adjust, stroking himself idly in the drug haze.

“If you need more,” A voice was saying, gentle but firm. “We can hunt. But I'd rather not be starving when we do.”

Geoffrey snapped awake, jerking his hand back and sitting up. Reid, the beast himself, was sat by the side of his bed. A red wound on his arm, just closing, told Geoffrey exactly what he'd been drinking. And the last few weeks of his life swam back into focus.

He was dead, and this beast had killed him and brought him back as one of its own.

He looked away, disgusted and swung his legs around, planting his feet on the ground. It still wasn't pretty, but his flesh was mending beneath the torn trousers.

Reid was standing and buttoning up his cuff, as though nothing was out of the ordinary. “I don't really want to hunt for you, but I can if you're not able to. You were pretty badly hurt.”

Somehow, he found the strength to answer. “And whose fault was that ?”

“I think it's possible for us to argue about that, but I don't want to.” Reid _sounded_ like he was smiling. Even though Geoffrey wasn't looking, he knew we would be fucking smiling. “But I did want to ask … why didn't you heal yourself ?”

“I'm not like you, Reid. I haven't - “ Geoffrey began to form the lie, but Reid cut him off.

“Don't say you haven't been feeding. If you were starving, I couldn't have drawn blood from you to heal myself. And that's exactly what I did. So why ?”

Geoffrey was silent.

_You know I won't play this game._

The words punched through Geoffrey's defences as he heard them. He remembered Reid saying that during the fight. It had given him bitter satisfaction then. The beasts who played with human lives could do with feeling played themselves from time to time. But now, he heard it with the full weight of grief and pain behind the words... and a memory of a woman he'd never met.

Geoffrey's hand snapped to his chest, where the amulet should have hung. He wasn't just hearing Reid with his ears, was he ? The amulet was gone. It had surely come off during their fight. He could only guess when.

“Why, Geoffrey ?” Reid was almost spitting the words, actually sounding _offended_. “I didn't think Priwen gave up so easily. I didn't think Priwen surrendered.”

“Fuck you.” McCullum surged up. Reid was a tall bastard, but so was he. He met him, snarling, almost nose-to-nose and still shouting. “I'm not fucking Priwen anymore, am I ? I'm a fucking leech. _Your_ fucking progeny.”

It had been a mistake. His eyes met Reid's and his Maker's thoughts poured into him.

A horned figure, all swirling blood and ancient power, saying _I know well the grudge a child bears against its mother and father. _He remembered Reid's defiance, remembered what it was like to shout down that creature, to demand its silence long before he had ever known what it was.

The vision passed.

Geoffrey took a step back. “What - the fuck - was that ?”

Reid sighed, “My maker. Myrddin.”

“That thing... That thing made you a vampire ?”

“Yes.”

Silence stretched.

Geoffrey realised he was holding his breath. He let it go. “Fuck.”

Reid laughed. A breathy gasp of laughter that sounded like he'd been holding it in a long time. “Fuck.”

Geoffrey sat back down on the bed. After a moment's hesitation, Reid sat down next to him.

“So,” Geoffrey asked, “Definitely not William Marshall then ?”

“No.”

“You're sure ?”

“Yes. William Marshall is dead.”

It was the Hunter's turn to laugh. “And how can you be so damn sure of that, Doctor Jonathan Emmet Reid ?”

Reid didn't rise to the barb – the reminder of how deeply McCullum had looked into his life. “Elisabeth cut his head off before she took her own life.”

“Elisabeth.” Geoffery tried to remember. His head still hurt. “The redhead ?”

“Yes."  
  
“The one who burned in the fire ?”

Reid's head snapped up. “How did Priwen know about that ?”

Geoffrey ignored the pain that the unthinking question caused him. He scoffed, “Oh please, Reid. Priwen's spies are good but... Well, you weren't exactly quiet. We both saw it – me and that poor excuse for a leech, Swansea. I might as well have been there in the room.”

“If you had been, I suspect it would have gone differently.”

“Doesn't sound like it.” Geoffrey hesitated, but he owed the beast for his remark about Priwen, “Two dead vampires sounds like exactly like I was in the room.”

He could almost _taste _Reid's anger. But when he looked over, Geoffrey believed that he recognised the fair exchange. Hurt for hurt. Barb for barb.

Geoffrey pushed. No reason not to test his luck, after all. “I don't suppose you know what her last name was ? Elisabeth, I mean ? I've had a suspicion I'd like to settle.”

Reid was silent.

“Come on now, Doctor. You've always been chatty for a leech.”

The doctor's face turned towards him. Shadows moved, and one hand was around Geoffrey's throat, the other holding his chin, lifting him off his feet, holding him in the air by his face. Reid's eyes... his eyes changed. Geoffrey saw past the subtle glamour his Maker wore for a mask.

His eyes weren't blue any more. It was late in the year, already cold in the room. But Reid's hands were colder still as he forced his progeny to meet those eyes.

“_Answer me, _McCullum. Why are you baiting me ? Why did you refuse to heal yourself ?”

“I'm a fucking leech, doctor. I deserve to die.”

There it was. Compelled, unable to hide, he had spoken the truth he hadn't even admitted to himself.

_There's a hole in my chest, Johnny._

McCullum heard it and knew the memory, this time, for what it was. One of Reid's. One that haunted him.

He had to ask. Even held in this icy grip, he had to ask. The words came out as a wheeze and he grit his teeth, seizing Reid's hands with his own and hauling himself up enough to get some breath. “Who - was - she?” He hauled another breath in and because Reid let him, he used it. “Leech.”

Those red eyes burned into his, catlike pupils constricting and dilating, studying McCullum minutely. They were close enough to kiss. But when Reid finally spoke, his breath didn't even warm the air.

“My sister.” Reid released him unceremoniously, letting him fall to the ground. “Now get dressed. There are clothes in that dresser that ought to fit you. We are going to hunt. And you are going to feed yourself. And then, we are going to talk.”

_And what if I refuse, beast ? _McCullum thought as he pushed himself up again. But as he raised his chin in defiance and started to say it aloud, he realised that Reid had already heard him.

And he already had his answer.

****

Reid hadn't been away long, but long enough. It was down to McCullum to work out where they might find the last few sewer beasts and rogue skals. They headed down into the sewers, down where McCullum doubted they'd run into Priwen patrols.

Geoffrey had just started to wonder what Reid's plan would be if they didn't find any... whether he had the strength of heart or body to fight him again if the monster insisted they hunt some easier prey... when the sewer beast tried to get the jump on them.

It felt good, fighting with someone else at his side again. But God, it gave Geoffrey shivers. They were powerful together. Too powerful. He remembered fighting these beasts alongside a full patrol of other men, and it had been dicey even with the best Priwen had to offer. Even on his own before Reid had come back, Geoffrey had needed to be on his toes against one of these massive lupine creatures. This time, it wasn't much more than a game.

In fact, the beast was on its knees before Geoffrey remembered what they were really here for, and buried his fangs in its neck. When he was sated, and had cut the beast's head off for good measure, he had to recognise how much he'd needed it.

Reid had been right. Smug bastard.

He'd more-or-less steered Geoffery from there, taking advantage of the blood-high to guide him like a bloody drunk. He had sobered up on the threshold, and by then there was no point fighting. It seemed the leech had hideouts all over the city, and this one was nicer than the last if you ignored the bloodstains.

“So, doctor.” McCullum spread his arms and turned to face his Maker. The leech stood, lean and predatory, blocking the exit. “I can feel the sunrise coming. We haven't got long. What do you intend to do with me ?”

******

Reid drew the door closed and focused on softening his voice, trying to remember what he had sounded like before he had died. Trying to sound... human.

“Let's try this again. Why didn't you kill me, Geoffrey ?”

“I seem to remember it was the pouring blood down my throat that did it.”

Reid sighed. Geoffrey was determined to make this a fight any way he could.

  
In fairness to him, he was working from old notes. He was trying to play to the Doctor Reid he had known before the Queen of Blood. Back when he had been chasing the epidemic, Reid would have argued with him. He had been furious then, exasperated with anything that wasted time. But now, Reid had time. They both did. Even if Geoffrey didn't want to face that fact.

Reid walked past him, sat down and rested his face in his hands, calming his thoughts. He felt the old scars on his face – the ones that would never heal now. He moved his hands up and back over his head, smoothing down his hair. His hands dropped back to his lap, and he regarded them, thinking.

He was drawing the moment out, stretching Geoffrey's patience thin.

“Well, goodnight then you antisocial bastard.”

“Goddammit Geoffrey. Stop. Just stop. You know why I'm keeping you here.”

“I'm sure I don't.”

“Yes, you do. You could have killed me in that fight, and you didn't. You wanted me to win. You wanted to die.”

Geoffrey's feigned swagger fell away. “Spare me, Reid. I never really had you. You'd never let me take you down so easily.”

“That's bullshit, Geoffrey.”

“Course language for the good doctor.” Geoffrey mocked him, snagging one of the chairs with a crooked finger. “What am I supposed to say ? Because you say it is so, it must be so ?” The Hunter dismissed Reid with a flick of his hand, sitting backwards on the chair as though Reid were the one under interrogation. “Save that for your sycophant. I won't dance to your tune.”

Despite himself, Reid rose to his feet. He was still a young vampire despite his old blood. And dammit, he didn't have the patience for this either.

“I think I could make you dance to whatever tune I wanted, Geoffrey, IF that's what I wanted.”

“Why don't you then ?” The Hunter was in his face immediately, fangs bared, fists balled. “Unleash your power on me, Doctor. Prove you're nothing more than I always said you were. Your kind will always be the worst disease humanity has to face.”

“Why Geoffrey ?” Reid snapped. “Why play this game ? Do you WANT me to force it out of you ?”

“No. There's nothing to force. You beat me, good and proper. Twice. And you can't face that. You need something to fight against, Reid, and I'm the last thing you have left. Hold on to your pretty illusion and let me leave, or force it out of me and face the truth.”

_There's a hole in my chest, Johnny. _

She had stood this close to him as well. Her eyes had been wild, like his. She had called him a disease too. He couldn't lose them both. He wouldn't.

_SIT DOWN._

The Hunter sat down. Too quickly. A chair leg snapped like kindling and he landed hard on the floor.

He hadn't needed to speak aloud. Jonathan remembered how Myrddin had held him back, when he had forbidden Reid from going further than his Maker wanted. It had felt like a wall – his body refusing to countermand the order.  
  
“You had me.” Reid repeated, more slowly, circling the fallen Hunter. “At least twice. Maybe more than that, if I missed something. If you wanted me dead, I'd be dead.”

He tried to distance himself from McCullum's rage, tried to think of McCullum like any other mortal – just a person he'd met – just another puzzle to understand. And the information started to fall into place.

The Hunter was still down. Unable, or unwilling, to rise. Reid kneeled in front of him and laid his hand on Geoffrey's head.

More gently, he said it again, studying the sinews of the Hunter's body to read his reaction.

“Do you _want _me to force it out of you ?”

He saw the Hunter's muscles tense an instant before he sprang and was ready. Reid leapt back as he moved, catching him easily, and threw him back down. The forgotten chair splintered to pieces as Geoffrey hit it, and Reid kicked them away. Too much like stakes – too easy to hurt Geoffrey more than he wanted to.

“My god, you _need _me to fight you for this don't you ? You really can't see it as anything but surrender.”

No smart remarks, no rebuttal. The silence said it all. As if recognising his mistake, the Hunter grunted, still refusing to meet Reid's gaze. “Tell yourself whatever you need to, Beast. It won't make a damn bit of difference. Let me go, or commit to tearing my mind apart. Because as you say, I won't surrender. Not to you.”

Reid felt centred now, in his element as both doctor and vampire. He was on the hunt and closing the distance. “What are you hoping for Geoffrey ? Torture ? That's not the kind of monster I am. But I still don't think you understand.”

_STAND UP, GEOFFREY. _

The Hunter staggered up, fighting him every step of the way.

_LOOK AT ME. _

He lifted his gaze to his chin, and stopped, trembling with the effort of resisting the command. Jonathan smiled and dipped down, forcing the Hunter to meet his eyes. He held him there, listening to the singing of their shared blood.

_I hate you. _He heard Geoffrey think. _I hate what you did to me. And I hate what I've become._

And there it was. Jonathan had the missing piece.

Because the images accompanying the thought weren't only of his Maker. No, his hate was spoken to other men too. One in particular. Reid searched his memory for the name.

Carl Eldritch.

Jonathan finally understood. He had dragged Geoffrey through the looking glass, forced him to see things as his brother had once seen them. The brother who had been made a vampire by their father. The brother Geoffrey had killed at Carl's command.  
  
It had been the start of a long and bloody career.

These were the ruins of Geoffrey's beliefs. No real reason. No real rationale anymore. Just fighting because he always had. Fighting for the pleasure of it. Fighting for the pain of it. Seeking destruction for its own sake.

And yes, there, buried in the hate and guilt and fear … the desperate need to be punished for his unnumbered sins.

Oh, Jonathan could have laughed. He was no priest. He couldn't even enter a church, let alone grant the man absolution. His hands were stained too deeply with blood to ever clean another's soul. That was for the Sad Saint, not him.

But, of course, Jonathan could do what the Sad Saint couldn't.

Gently, tenderly, Reid reached out. Still pinned in place by his Maker's will, Geoffrey couldn't pull back as the cold hands stroked his cheek, savoring the prickle of his stubble, sliding down his thick neck, spreading across his wide shoulders. Reid let his claws slide, bloody, from his fingertips as he gripped those broad shoulders, slicing easily through the skin and deep into the muscle.

The Hunter's teeth were clenched. He was trembling as he fought for control of his body. Reid savored it, savored the Hunter's rage as he drank in his thoughts, sharing the pain with his progeny.

“You are _mine_, Geoffrey.”

_Hate you, you bastard._ The Hunter thought. Reid drank it all in, tasting his anger and self-loathing, lapping gently at the fire inside. That fire would consume him, Reid knew now, when it had nothing left to burn. Sooner or later, Geoffrey would find a way to destroy himself.

_I have a nasty hole in my chest, Johnny. _

And, yes, it needed to breathe.

Reid closed his eyes, releasing him. As the Hunter drew breath to argue, to fight, Reid struck out with his claws, forcing him to stagger. The wounds would heal quickly, but that wasn't the point.

  
He let the growl enter his voice once again, “You're a masochist, Geoffrey. But there's more to it than that. You can't stop fighting and you're right – I'm the only creature left who can beat you.”

The Hunter snarled, but Reid twisted like a snake to bring their faces together again, locking their gazes, holding him, pinning him to Jonathan.

“I remember when Myrddin took control of me. It's not as simple as mesmerism. It's different and I don't think it'll break you.” Reid was almost purring now. “But I think a part of you wants to find out if it will, so I'll oblige.”

McCullum spat in his face.

It was a good start.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation continues, a shred of decency is shown, a mistake is made. 
> 
> (The smut creeps in)

Of course, the sun had risen all too soon, crushing them beneath the weight of morning. Geoffrey was still dressed from the waist down, but Reid had torn the shirt from his back in the moment when he'd lost control. He regretted it, a little, now. Not that he had hurt Geoffrey, but that he had lost control at all.

Before they slept, Reid had paused to lick the blood from his progeny's wounds, lapping at the sweet cocktail of rage, fear and cigarette smoke that _was _Geoffrey. There was a time when Reid could have drunk him down, devoured him, but that time was past. He had preserved him. And now, he would keep him.

He had to command Geoffrey to sleep in the bed, realising that he would rather have slept on the floor like a dog just to spite him. The bed was too much like comfort, too close to vulnerability.

But Reid had chosen this safehouse partly because the bed was big enough for both men, and he gave his progeny his space. Geoffrey slept, curled away from his Maker, the red claw-marks on his resentful back already closing in his sleep. Jonathan lay beside him and let himself become still.

The vampire's daytime sleep wasn't like living sleep. There was no dozing off, no haze of waking, just a long blink – awake, then awake again.

Reid heard the crack of wood, and was ready for it. He rolled, surged up, seized Geoffrey by the throat. The improvised stake punched down into the mattress.

“Too slow.” He growled. “You won't kill me tonight.”

He cast the Hunter off onto the floor.

_STAY. _

It seemed Geoffrey had found the resolve to re-arm himself, both mentally and physically. That was good, Jonathan thought. As long as he was fighting, he was very much alive.

Reid prepared his own tools, the vampire doctor once again.He had been a surgeon. If – and it was a substantial If – he could cut into his progeny's heart and slice out the sickness, Geoffrey would live. If Reid failed, he would die. And since neither of them was human, and he was a monster, there was no shame in enjoying it either way.

He went in with his first psychological 'scalpel', chasing a hunch.

“How are you adapting to immortality, McCullum ?”

_SPEAK._

The Hunter fought him. “That's one of the first questions you asked me. And the answer's the same now – it gives me the shivers. I'll be your worst nightmare, in time.”

“Are you feeding ?”

A long, resentful silence.

Reid crept into the Hunter's mind, squeezing. _SPEAK._

McCullum gasped, then snarled. “You watched me do it last night, beast ! Is that not good enough for you ?”

“That's not what I meant, McCullum. Are you feeding ?”

“You mean am I killing humans ? What do you fucking well think ?”

Reid was in his face again, twisting a hand in his hair to drag his head back. He drove hard into the Hunter's ice blue eyes. Reid was already certain what he'd find, but he drove in anyway, pushing aside the fragile glamour Geoffrey kept to hide from the world... to hide from himself.

Beyond the illusion, the irises were still blue – the cold colour glinting like the sky when snow began to fall, supernaturally clear. But the rest of it – where the whites should have been – was stained with the crimson hue of his victims.

Oh, McCullum had fed alright. More than once. So Reid answered him with a raised eyebrow, and stepped away, turning his back. He could _feel _McCullum trying to rise to his feet, but he restrained him.

Another silence, save for the soft strain of his progeny's breath as he fought for control.

“How many, McCullum ?”

No answer.

Reid circled him. “How **many**, McCullum ?”

_SPEAK._

“Fuck you, leech.”

“More than one. More than two ?”

“I said fuck you.” Geoffrey spat.

“Dozens ?”

“I would fucking never.”

Reid slowed his pace. “See, McCullum. Progress. More than one and less than dozens.”

“My list is a lot shorter than yours, Doctor Reid.” Geoffrey hissed.

That stopped Reid in his tracks, and he couldn't help it. A wide smile spread across his face as he remembered facing Swansea, still human and dying and yet trying the same tactic – trying to sidestep his own actions by throwing Reid's crimes in his face.

_The difference is, I know I'm a monster. _He thought. But he didn't say it. Not yet.

“Maybe, McCullum.”

“There's no maybe about it, Reid. I've seen your _real_ face too,” He was growling now, bloody spittle forming at his lips as he strained against his Maker's control. “But I didn't even need that to confirm your body count. I've seen your handiwork – the bloody trail you left across London.”

Reid nodded, sombre, hiding his smile as he raised another scalpel to the Hunter's mind.

“And what about vampires ?”

“What about them ?”

“How many have you killed ?”

The Hunter's voice became low, satisfied. He stopped resisting. “Hundreds.”

“Really ?”

“Probably. I stopped counting a long while ago. But if you factor in every damned leech killed by someone I recruited, someone I trained, someone I armed and sent out, then easily. You can't imagine how many of your kind I've killed.”

Reid spoke, softly, without reproach, “Our kind.”

The response was immediate, and spoken just as softly. “Fuck. You.”

“McCullum, I wonder - did you ever bother to find out how many of _our kind _I killed, during the epidemic ? Ascalon... The tourists … “

“What ?”

Reid slowed, reining in the monster from his voice. “I haven't been at this for as long as you have, McCullum. So I'm certain my _count _is below yours. But since you think of human and Ekon lives so differently, what if we weighed them against each other ? I'd say I'm still on the Saint's side of that balance.”

“I never pegged you for a utilitarian, Reid. Does that happen to all doctors, seeing people as numbers ? Or just vampire ones ?”

“I'm not trying to justify my actions.” Reid dismissed the accusation with a flick of his hand. “I think I tried to at first but... well...,” Reid smiled, flexing his fingers. “My point is that vampires kill. And if one less vampire means fewer deaths.... If you're going to compare our actions, our _accounts_, I don't believe either of us can claim the moral high ground. We're all Sinners, as Sean would say.”

McCullum might be a young vampire, railing against his Maker, but he was still a Hunter. He didn't miss it.

“Sean ?”

“Someone I'll introduce you to.” Reid said smoothly, letting the monster speak again, “When I trust you. He's not someone I'd expose to a mindless killer.”

McCullum scoffed; a savage sound full of hatred. “When you 'trust' me ? Or was that 'trussed', as in 'like a pig' ? I can hardly fucking move as it is.”

Reid ignored the barb. He had McCullum talking now.

“Did you know London become an attraction for disaster tourists, during the epidemic ? Ekons from Europe who just wanted to see a city fall ? Smug, self-satisfied... I killed so many of them. They threw themselves at me –just a newborn vampire – an easy kill. They learned better, by the end.”

“It's an easy fucking mistake to make.” McCullum spoke from experience. “But hear me, beast. Scripture and philosophy are the refuge of those who can't defend their own damn actions. I've learned that, and learned it again since you changed my perspective. You're damned, Reid. You always will be. There's no account, no balance, that will change that.”

Reid turned to face him again.

“What do you want me to say, McCullum ?” It was an invitation, drawing the Hunter out,. He let his eyes meet McCullum's again so that he could read every reaction.

He saw himself through Geoffrey's eyes. Reid had gone very still now, the way powerful vampires did before they launched themselves at your throat. But McCullum hadn't been frightened by that since he was 16, so he didn't let it slow him now.

“I _want _you to fucking acknowledge your so-called 'sins' rather than talking about them in abstract. They were people. Real fucking people. God above Reid, who are you trying to convince ?”

Reid saw his own jaw-muscles tense through McCullum's eyes. To McCullum, his eyes were still blue, his skin pale but human, a walking deception. He saw the hint of fangs. He saw himself smile.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.” Reid nodded, “Don't misunderstand me. I'm long done with justifying my actions. We're still talking about you, _Geoffrey._”

It was the first time tonight that Reid had used his first name. He felt the cold spark that slithered up the hunter's spine at the unexpected intimacy, how obscene it felt and, worse than that, how much he _liked _it.

They were making progress.

“You say you killed vampires – Ekons – in their hundreds. Most Ekons kill Skals on sight. Think about it. How many frenzied Skals survived, hunted, killed, because your hunters had slaughtered the Ekons that would have controlled them ?”  
  
“Skals don't come from nowhere, doctor. If we had killed _more _vampires, there would have been fewer Skals to begin with.”  
  
Reid couldn't deny it was true. If McCullum's thugs had caught up with Elisabeth a year ago... ten years ago... this epidemic might never have happened.

Only 'might' though. He suspected that nothing involved in the Queen's revival had been an accident. She would have found another way, in time.

“These Skals weren't made by vampires, Geoffrey. They were part of the epidemic.”

“And what caused the epidemic, doctor ?” McCullum spat.

Reid realised he had mis-stepped, let his focus lapse, let thoughts of Elisabeth shake his certainty and throw him part-way back to the doctor he had been. His hold on the Hunter had weakened, and Geoffrey leapt into the opening.

He hit him like a train, throwing Jonathan back against the desk. He contorted savagely as it cracked his spine and hissed in pain as splinters speared into him. It didn't matter that it wasn't his heart – vampires didn't get on with any plant matter.

It took barely a second for his spine to twist and snap back into place, broken bones reforming perfectly. But Geoffrey was fast – a second was all he needed. His fist balled in Reid's hair, dragging his head back to expose his neck, pinning his body with a leg.

****  
  
“My turn to ask the questions, Doctor.” Geoffrey snarled as he pressed the sword to the vampire's throat with one hand, his other twisted in a knot of Reid's hair. “And DON'T,” He twisted his hold to deny the doctor leverage and pressed the sword harder against him. “DON'T you fucking dare try to control me again. If I feel so much as a fucking tremble, I** will** cut your fucking head off.”

“You won't kill me, Geoffrey.” Reid said, infuriatingly calm. But he didn't try to lock Geoffrey down again.

“Maybe you're right.” McCullum threw it back, “But you're always so certain of everything, Doctor, and you've been wrong before. Just how sure are you ?”

McCullum's blood was up, and he knew it. He was certain that Reid had known what he was fucking doing to him. Reid was sprawled on his side over the broken desk and McCullum's cock was now pressed hard against him, throbbing in time with his outrage.

Every fucking word the doctor had said, revelling in his power over his progeny to hold him to the goddamn floor, had been a jolt through his body from chin to groin. He had been growing harder, hating every twitch and pulse. Every time the doctor taken control, it was pain and pleasure and humiliation, twisting a knife into his guts.

This lust didn't disgust him the way it had with Swansea. Doctor Reid had always been gorgeous, always tempting except for the fact that he was a fucking leech.  
  
McCullum had known the pleasure of being overwhelmed by a woman – the ones attracted to Priwen were always the strong ones. He had been with men, too, but never in the... the weaker position. In Geoffrey's experience, it had always been the women who got a thrill from dominating the legendary hunter. To the men, he had been too much of an icon. He had never chosen to submit to a man. And he hadn't fucking chosen to submit to Reid.

He wanted to put that right, right fucking now. He considered his position, how to restrain the other vampire.

But then, seeping through their connection, he felt... he felt...

“Jesus fucking Christ, doctor.” McCullum gasped, “Are you fucking _embarassed ?_”

The vampire didn't try to turn and face him again. He just looked away and fucking smiled, had the fucking audacity to look _sheepish_. “Well, Geoffrey. I mean... Well.”

McCullum refused to credit it. Reid had known damn well what he was doing, he had to. Vampires were creatures of deception, lies coming to them more easily than truth ever did. The doctor was still fucking playing with him.

“You're a monster, Reid. I've personally been to the scene of at least three of your victims – the ones you discarded in the gutter. You don't have any fucking sensibilities. I know now what feeding does us. How it _feels_.” He leaned closer, speaking low, intense. “I was one of your victims remember, when you forced your blood into me. When you killed me. You don't get to make a pretence of decency.”

The doctor's eyes were half lidded, and he didn't reply.

“What's wrong, Maker ?” His throat felt raw to say it, “Have I finally struck a fucking nerve ?”

He realised he had been stupid a moment too late. By leaning over, he had sacrificed his hold. Reid rose into him, away from the blade and though he swung it toward his Maker's neck, he wasn't fast enough. Reid slipped out from his grip. Geoffrey fell into the space he'd left, and braced himself for his Maker's will to cripple him again.

****

  
Reid stopped. The muscles of Geoffrey's back stood out, tense, expecting a blow that wouldn't come. At least, not right now.

God, he was starting to see what a complex man the Vampire Hunter had been, before he exploded into Reid's orbit. Reid had never... never thought of other men that way. The thought wasn't repellent... it was simply that he'd never paused to think it. The Reids had been raised to treat all sexuality with a quiet dignity, and utmost discretion. Love was often spoken about, but never sex.

There had been women, of course. He was from a West End family – it had carried young Master Reid into plenty of company. But then medical school... and The War. He had spent time with men in the trenches but most had been his patients, or likely to become his patients. His duty to them as a doctor made sexual attraction unethical, so if the thoughts had ever occurred... and perhaps they had... the doctor had forced them away and forgotten them.

It had never occurred to him that Geoffrey's feelings might be so... complicated.

Slowly, the hard knot of the Hunter's muscles relaxed and unwound. He stood, slowly, still holding the sword. He surely knew that Reid was standing, watching him, on the other side of the room. But he refused to turn to face him.

“Geoffrey, I -”  
  
“Fucking spare me your silver tongue, beast.” He turned at last, violently. The Hunter looked at the sword in his hand and threw it away with disgust. Reid saw his thoughts clearly – the sword was useless, he was at Reid's mercy now, and he knew it.

This was new territory, and Jonathan considered his next step carefully.

“You wanted to know what caused the epidemic ?”

“I bloody well know what caused the epidemic.”

Jonathan waited.

“Fuck you Reid.” McCullum sighed and began to cross the room. Jonathan watched him, but the hunter wasn't coming for him. He knelt down by the bed, by the coat Jonathan had torn from him last night, checking the pockets. “Ah, thank god for small mercies”

A sad dribble of tobacco suggested that the cigarette packet was worse for wear. But McCullum found one that was still whole, and lit it. He dragged deeply, filling his lungs.

“Alright.” He said, after his third long drag, “Fine. What caused the epidemic ?”

So Jonathan told him.

He held little back, though he deliberately omitted Old Bridget and Sean. He mentioned only that blind frenzy wasn't a natural trait of skals – that many could be peaceful without the Blood of Hate. But when it came to William Marshall and Elisabeth, he told Geoffrey everything, only ending his tale once the castle was burning to the ground.

McCullum smoked one cigarette after another as he listened, discarding the broken ones. When Reid stopped speaking, they remained in silence for a while, both men lost in contemplation.

“You really fancied her, didn't you ? Ms Blackwood-Ashbury.” McCullum asked. There was no hint of malice, or even envy in his voice. It was an honest question.

Reid responded in kind. “I thought I did. But now, I'm not so sure. She was the one who guided me through my first days as a vampire. It was easy for her to become my anchor. And now that I know we were connected by blood... well... I'd be lying if I said I hadn't examined my feelings since then.”

“But no answers yet, I take it ?”

“No.”

Geoffrey stamped out the last cigarette, crushing it into the floor. “Do you want to know what I really think, leech ?”

Reid chuckled. “Probably not, Hunter. But go ahead.”

“I think she did the right thing. Probably the only decent thing she did. She might not have known that she was still a risk, but she bloody well knew Marshall was. I think the epidemic made her realise that she'd been protecting and preserving the last gasp of the bloody plague, and she should have put that right a long time ago.”

“I could have saved them. Maybe even both of them.”

The Hunter scoffed. “No, Reid. And I don't think you believe that either. You've killed enough people in your time. I think even if they'd stuck around, you'd have seen the sense in it... eventually.”

“Despite everything, you're still convinced you know me that well ?”

“_Because _of everything, I think I do _now_. You're a strange creature, vampire doctor, but you're not as inscrutable as you think.”

The silence resumed. McCullum looked again into the empty packet, crushed it and tossed it away.

“Good to know, though.” He said at last.

“What ?”

For the first time that night, the Hunter turned and met his eyes voluntarily. “The blood won't stop a vampire from killing their Maker, if she could.”

Reid responded more warmly that he'd quite intended to, “Perhaps I should be grateful that there's some other reason, then.”

McCullum ignored him. Instead, he stood, stretched and began to rummage through the drawers, pulling out women's clothes and tossing them to one side. Eventually, he gave up and grabbed up his coat, slipping it on over his bare back.

“Unless you're going to stop me, I'm going out.”

“I'm not going to stop you.”

The Hunter grunted and headed for the door.

“But Geoffrey,” Reid didn't hold the monster out of his voice this time, “Don't make me hunt you down. Here, or the hospital, before sunrise.”

“Do I have a curfew now ? Had I better mind who I bring home with me?”

Reid rose to his feet. He had wanted to give McCullum some space, some time, but he couldn't allow him to believe he could act freely. He had said too much, about Edgar in particular, to give his progeny free rein so soon. He closed the distance between them.

“I don't care _who _you bring with you, but you _will _be there, Geoffrey.”

Reid didn't press their connection, didn't rely on his supernatural control. He didn't need the Hunter to submit – he just needed him to _obey. _If McCullum respected the difference, he didn't intend to show it. He squared his shoulders, dropped his chin in a brief nod, and stepped away into the night.

****

It was raining. Of course it was raining; miserable grey sheets dropping onto a miserable grey city. McCullum was already soaked, hair plastered to his scalp, and walking without any real destination.

_Goddamn Reid_. McCullum felt humiliated. The moment the vampire had realised his attraction to him, he had bolted, refused to come close again. He had locked down his thoughts, going quiet so McCullum couldn't get so much as a peek at what he was thinking. Refused to do anything but talk shop. Was Reid so fucking proper that the once-dreadful vampire hunter was now less in his eyes, not even a threat worth suppressing ? McCullum had known men like that. Men who thought his equal attraction to men and women made him somehow less than a man. But McCullum had never given a damn - those men were usually the first to fall to their knees when the monsters showed themselves. McCullum had nothing he needed to prove.

Except that Reid, a fucking monster himself, had recoiled.

McCullum stopped to pick up more cigarettes, and a bottle of godawful whisky to sniff at. He hadn't any money, but tonight he wasn't above convincing the shop owner that he had already paid for them. After that, he just walked, trying to resolve the chaos in his head.

Reid had manipulated him, that much was clear. McCullum had sworn to kill him, and now he was tangled up in knots because he thought the vampire didn't... what ? Didn't respect him anymore ? The monster that had forced him to become what he was ?

McCullum had been so fucking blind. This was still a war between them, and he was letting Reid win, letting him play with him, giving him a chance to break him. It was a sick game that had started the moment Reid had turned him. And he had fallen for it. The greatest Vampire Hunter that had ever lived, overwrought and upset because his Maker didn't care about him. Reid must be fucking laughing.

“Fuck him.” He growled, ducking under a overhang. Lighting the fag was hard going, soaking as he was, but he managed it after a while. He might not be able to drink any more, but apparently the vampiric condition didn't mind what he breathed, thank fuck. Closing his eyes, he drew the smoke in, feeling it coil in his throat more intensely than he ever had when he was alive, and exhaled. He focused on the hate and confusion, and tried to expel it with the smoke.

_Think clearly, dammit. _

“Mr McCullum ?” The voice was thin with disbelief, with hope.

_Priwen. _  
  
Oh, god no. 

Horror clenched his throat. He had been so goddamn careful before now. McCullum got the fuck out of his own head and focused on the world around him.

“Mr McCullum ! It is – it is, isn't ? We thought - ” The young man stammered as Geoffrey made up for lost time, stretching his senses wide. There were three of them. Because of-fucking-course there was. He had been militant about that during the Great Hunt. A Priwen Guard alone was a dead man. Two made one missing and one dead. Three had a chance.

He could try to run. But the other two were looking as well. If he bolted, he'd only cement their suspicions as surely as if he bared his fangs. There was only one chance. He looked back at the young man, recognised him : Joe Burroughs, brother killed by a Skal, parents by the flu, no other living relatives.

He swallowed, suppressing his soft brogue, trying to crisp his vowels to an English accent. “I don't know who you're talking about.” McCullum told him, Then he leaned in to the boy's mind, pressing his thoughts the way he needed them to go. “_I'm not him._”

“Oh,” Joe sagged, “I'm sorry, sir. I thought you were someone... someone we lost. Have a good night, sir.”

“And you.” McCullum forced himself to stay casual as he dismissed the young man. One of the other two had overheard and, seeing Joe's disappointment, hadn't thought twice about it. But the third was still watching him.

He didn't dare peer back. Instead, he kept his head down and made as if he were searching for something in his pockets. It was dark, and despite the torches the men carried and McCullum's own lit cigarette, he knew it must be darker still to their eyes. If he kept his head down, they might not -

“Sir.” The older man, the veteran, said at last. McCullum ignored him, but the attempt felt pitiful even to him. A long moment passed, then he heard the Guard shift into a fighting stance, thumbing the oralchium canister to the ready position. “Sir.”

As the cigarette ash dropped off under its own weight, McCullum realised what he'd forgotten a moment before the man said it.

“It's been a while since you took a breath, sir.”

McCullum snapped his head up as grief and self-loathing overtook him. He knew this man. He knew him well, well enough that he knew he'd never mistake McCullum for someone else. Geoffery just wasn't strong enough to convince him otherwise. It was Henry, the brother of Rodney who had died in the slaughter Reid had left at the theatre.

Probably the last of their family alive now.

With a shock, the man recognised him too. Him, and what he'd become.

“Oh, Geoffery.” Henry's voice was hoarse. He looked into his face and saw all the little giveaways, just as he'd been trained to do. “I'm so sorry.”

There was no point trying. At least it would feel good to come clean. He flicked the cigarette away and straightened up.

“It can't be helped, Henry.”

The transition was so smooth, so quick, that Henry must have been bracing himself for this encounter... must have imagined finding McCullum, just like this.

“I'll make it quick, sir. If you don't fight. I'll tell the boys we found you dead, just staked you to be sure. Won't tell anyone how it went down.” The Guard lowered his gun, and held his stake in hands that only shook a little.

God, McCullum could have dealt with hatred. But not this. His throat closed and his eyes grew hot. He wanted to let it happen. God, how he wanted it. But it wasn't even a choice he would get to make. When he stretched his senses out, he had picked up more than just the three warm heartbeats of the Guard.

“I'm sorry Henry. But you have to run.”

Henry's features hardened. “Sir, you know I can't.”

“Please Henry. Get those lads out of here. I'm not alone.”

But he'd trained Henry too well. Vampires were deceptive creatures. They always lied. Henry let go of the stake and brought his gun to bear, already starting to squeeze the trigger. The other two had stopped, watching, and they understood what it meant.  
  
He heard Joe suck in a breath to raise the alarm, just as McCullum had trained him to do. His young voice cracked with fear.

“It's a Lee-”

And Jonathan ripped his throat out.

****

  
They were powerful together. Too powerful.

It had been over in a matter of seconds. The moment Joe's blood had sprayed beneath Jonathan's claws, the air had seemed saturated with it and the hunger had overwhelmed him. His vision had gone red, his fangs lengthening with an ecstatic pain and he had grabbed Henry. The veteran had fought ferociously. But Geoffrey wasn't just any new-born vampire.

The blows had been exchanged in a rapid rhythm, as perfect as a training ground demonstration. The vampire grabbed the hunter, the hunter brought the gun between them, the vampire knocked the gun aside, the hunter drove in with the butt, the vampire sidestepped, the hunter stepped back, the vampire didn't take the bait, the hunter drove in, the vampire dodged, the hunter turned, the vampire hit him, the vampire hit him, the vampire hit him...

The vampire buried its fangs in the hunters neck and drank.

This wasn't just any Guard. He had known Henry. He had known him well. And because of an obscene quirk of the thirst, it made his blood rich beyond words. Geoffrey lost himself in the crimson haze, holding the man down, lost in the terrible pleasure of a taboo shattering as he gorged himself on a man he had fought alongside.

His last thoughts forgave Geoffrey more than the vampire could bear.

_I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry I couldn't do it. Someone will get you though, I promise. _

It wasn't a threat. As he died in his arms, Henry was only hoping that someone would set Geoffrey free. He went, almost peacefully, to join the rest of his family.

The ecstatic blood-high overwhelmed him. Geoffrey McCullum, once leader of the Guard of Priwen, arched back, driven to a climax of self-loathing and grief for his own fall from grace. The blood rushed through him, instantly swelling his prick to painful hardness even as the shame of it bubbled up, squeezing the last drop of resistance out of him. He came, hard, uncontrollably, and fell, shuddering, over the empty body.

As soon as he could move again, he rose and kicked himself away from the obscene embrace. Jonathan approached then, and took the corpse. Geoffrey was sure he managed to say something vicious, blood drunk as he was, and Jonathan said something in retort. But it didn't matter what it was.

He was damned. They both were.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (For those waiting, the smut finally arrives ;) )

"They don't know you're alive, do they ?” Jonathan asked, at last.

“I'm not alive.” Was all Geoffrey could reply. “So, no.”

The big man was slumped on the floor, occasionally drawing a long breath from the bottle. His whiskey had survived the fight, somehow, but his cigarettes had not survived the rain. His muscular legs crooked in front of him, head lolling against a rich, red _chaise longue_. Jonathan had brought them to Elisabeth's empty manor rather than bring the violence back to his childhood home. Still, it was an odd setting to share with the rugged, ruined vampire hunter.

“Before I left, you said you might go back to them. I thought you meant they hadn't realised you were a …” He chose his words carefully, “An Ekon.”

“I was newly born, Reid. I wasn't about to admit to myself, let alone you, how fucked I really was. Of course they'll know, I've trained them too well for that.”   
  
“I just thought – ” Reid hesitated, wondering how much McCullum really knew about immortals. “Well, it made me curious and before I burned the castle to the ground, I took a few things from their library. Including a book by a member of the Brotherhood talking about a type of vampire that hunts vampires, without being detected by other hunters. I could lend it to you.”

“Nemrod.” Geoffery supplied with a choked laugh, “Just fairy tales. And you're not one, are you ? So how could I be ?”

Reid suspected that didn't matter, but this wasn't the time to debate it. “But I can't believe that you didn't at least _try_.”

“Well, I didn't. So maybe you don't have me pegged after all.”

It wasn't quite true, Reid could tell. There was something more that Geoffrey was hiding. He considered for a moment, then told him so. Of course, Geoffrey only snorted and turned away.

Reid's anger had cooled, but it hadn't lessened. He had expected to give Geoffrey more time, to keep back and only make sure he stayed away from Pembroke. But he had _seen _the moment when his progeny had considered accepting the Guard's offer, and his rage hadn't dimmed since then.

“You're mine, Geoffrey.” Reid heard his own warning growl, monstrous and utterly inhuman.

Geoffrey either didn't hear the danger, or didn't care. “So sayeth the absentee father.”

Reid was on him in an instant. Yes, this feeling wasn't anything human, nothing so simple as a mortal man could feel. His blood was in Geoffrey. He had Made him, willing or not. And his life wasn't something to just be thrown away.

“I'm not your father, Geoffrey.” He felt his throat tear as his voice wrenched low, almost a roar. “I'm not mortal.” Reid was only a little taller, but Geoffrey was bigger than him in every other way. Still, he hooked the man under the jaw with one hand and picked the man up, lifting him easily off the floor, off his feet and over his head. _“I am not Carl.”_ He shook the big man like a kitten. “I am a vampire. And so are you. I am your Maker and you are my Progeny. THAT is how it is.”  
  
He threw him down, hearing the _chaise longue _crack. But he didn't care. It had been Elisabeth's furniture. And Elisabeth was gone.

“Tell me what happened.” He said. It wasn't a request.

Geoffrey struggled out of the wreckage, but didn't try to stand. The smell of cheap whisky lay heavy in the air as he pulled pieces of glass out of his leg.

“Where do you want me to _start _?” He replied, still obstinate, but yielding for now.

“Wherever you want.”

Geoffrey dragged the largest shard of glass out of the meat and threw it across the room. But he had fed well tonight and the wound healed instantly. “How about when I woke up in the top floor of a hospital like a wild animal ? How about the fucking eternity I spent clawing at the floor, trying to work out how to get to the only blood I could smell ? I could have killed them all, those patients in your precious hospital. It's a bloody miracle I didn't.”

Reid snarled back, “I can only assume you were better equipped than I was, when I woke – alone – not even knowing that vampires existed, straight into the crossbows and stakes of your men. At least you **knew **what you were, who your maker **was **and, McCullum, at least you **knew** that you were being punished, and why.”

Geoffrey dropped his gaze, eyes fixing on the floor. He sneered, giving every outward sign of dismissing his Maker's point, but Jonathan knew better. Geoffrey's discomfort flowed freely through the connection they shared. The Hunter had been disarmed. He had no more weapons for this fight.

“Tell me.”

But Geoffrey didn't. Not because he was fighting his Maker, but because he couldn't fight at all. His sudden passivity was frightening. The vampire doctor couldn't let it lie. He needed to understand.

Tenderly, he reached out through their connection, and felt the edges of Geoffrey's pain. It was a barbed and wicked thing, hooked inside his chest. Geoffrey couldn't touch that hurt, couldn't shift it, without it cutting deeper. And suddenly, Reid recognised it.

His was the same.

A sweep of shadows, and Reid was kneeling at Geoffrey's side. For the first time, he reached out with soft, human fingers to brush the matted hair back from his face. The man flinched away, suddenly vulnerable. Reid stopped.

For the first time since Elisabeth had turned towards the flames, Reid felt a flicker of ...tenderness. Affection, even. It was such a sudden contrast to the thoughts of blood and fury that had filled his mind that, for a moment, Reid was entranced by his own rapid change of perspective.

He saw how hard McCullum had worked to convince himself that his Maker would have no power over him, how he had steeled himself to meet his Maker on equal terms. And he saw how badly wrong he had been. And yet, and yet he didn't truly resent it. He had been fighting against it. But even to fight it was a pleasure – the pleasure that flowed from flexing against that power, testing his own strength against his Maker's.

But he couldn't forgive himself either, for how he'd used that strength, that power, against those who could never have stood against him. All this, and more, Reid saw, felt, tasted, through his connection to his Progeny.

“I'm sorry I left you with the hunger.” Jonathan heard himself say, knowing that he meant every word. “I shouldn't have … I shouldn't have done that.”

The tension snapped back into Geoffrey's frame. The Hunter was fumbling inside himself for a weapon. Anything to fend him off. Jonathan had to keep going.

“I came back you know. After... after Edgar. But you had already gone.” He let his weight rock back, easing off his knees and sitting. In this position, he was far more vulnerable if Geoffrey chose to attack, but it didn't matter. Jonathan sought the words to reach the other man. “It seems as though my blood took faster for you than it did.. than it did for my sister.”

There, he had acknowledged it. Strangely, it still hurt. No matter what eternity held for him, Geoffrey would always be only the second vampire he had created. And if he'd done it badly, well, he was at least improving. And at least with Geoffrey, he had meant to hurt him. Just, not quite like this.

“No. No, it took its bloody time.” The Hunter growled. “Trust me.”

Gently, Reid asked. He _had _to ask. There was no way forward without it. “Did you kill ?”   
  
McCullum didn't answer.

“I expect... I expect you know that I did. Your men must have reported it.”

Still, no answer.

If there was a way out of this for Geoffrey, Jonathan would need to show him the path. Geoffrey had crossed his arms over his knees, sullen. It let him hide his face easily, without making any obvious effort to do so. Jonathan understood.

“She was my sister.” He said, hauling the words up and out the place had had buried them. “She had been looking for me since I went missing, and she was the first person I found. I … I don't think I'll ever forgive myself. But I've had time, since then, to think. And I think.... the thing I regret most is that I didn't _choose_ it. If I had recognised her, and let the hunger take me anyway, I'd have known right then what I was. But instead... Instead, I don't think I really considered myself a 'vampire' for a long time. I was just the man who had killed his sister – who had killed Mary. And I didn't know if that made me a monster. So I went to find out.”

It seemed to penetrate the Hunter's black mood. He didn't raise his head, but at least he muttered, almost under his breath. “You are a monster, Dr Reid.”

“I know that now.” Reid shook his head, unrepentant. He pressed him gently, tugging softly at their connection. The answer was becoming obvious, but he still had to ask. He had to ask because Geoffrey had to _say _it. “Tell me, Geoffrey. Did you kill ?”

“Yes.”

“Who ?”

McCullum's confession was barely a whisper, “Priwen.”

Reid felt his own heart beat, dully, just once, as the kaleidoscope of Geoffrey's emotions tore free. Grief. Anger. Guilt. Hate. Fear of himself and what he was capable of. A fear that had always been buried inside him, carefully controlled, until he became a vampire and realised he hadn't really known what that fear could be.

“Tell me what happened.” Reid tried to be gentle, but there was too much urgency in his tone.

The Hunter resisted.

“Why ?” McCullum bit back, finding his fight at last.

Reid hesitated, remembering Elisabeth in the rain beside Mary's grave. “Because it might help. Because if you try to bury it, it _will _destroy you. And because,” He shook his head again, and smiled. “If it doesn't help to say it, you at least deserve to lay out the crimes I committed against you and demand an account.”

Reid felt McCullum yield. Not defeated by his Maker's control, but by his words. After all, this monster might be the only creature he **could **confess to.

So he told him. He told him about the red hunger, about mewling and scrabbling at the floor trying to get to the blood in the hospital beneath him, about eventually – finally – coming to his senses enough to crawl into the lift, to thumb the button and go down into the hospital. By then, he had enough control to force himself out of the nearest door, into the night.

Even then, he had fought to steer himself away from the very thing that drew him in. Half-blind with hunger, he could still – almost – remember that he had been Turned, recognise that he could not take what he craved. He might have found rats, or a skal, or even poor unfortunate soul he'd never met before.

But of course, the hospital was surrounded by his own damn patrols. Maybe they recognised him. Maybe they saw just another leech trying to escape. But either way, they closed on him. Unlike Jonathan, Geoffrey hadn't staggered into a willing embrace. They had attacked him.

Maybe, if he'd been any other newborn, even one of Reid's, they would have killed him. But Geoffrey had been fighting his whole life. He had trained these men. Even half-blind and working on instinct, he could defend himself. With his new strength and the red hunger driving him, he won.

Like Jonathan, he'd come back to himself with blood thick in his throat, sated and euphoric, only to recognise the face of the man he'd killed. He was a boy Geoffery had recruited himself. The other two members of the patrol were dead – killed in the desperate brawl. But the boy had broken in terror at the sight, and tried to crawl away. Geoffrey had come after him, and killed him.

His last thoughts had been much like Mary's.

“The only reason I got away,” Geoffrey spat, “Was that I'd killed all of them. There was no one left to tell what had happened to me, or them. I hid in the fucking sewers. I fucking wept. And then I cleaned myself off, and went to apologise to Carl for what I'd done, and decide how to put an end to it.”

“In the cemetery ?”

The Hunter nodded. “Right where you found me, dancing with skals and a beast. Where the fuck they were when I'd just been turned, I'd like to fucking know. But it felt good to fight with you, Reid – I'll admit that. It gave me hope. Made me think I could turn this around, make the most of it. And God almighty, I did for a while. But I realised the truth soon after you left.”

Jonathan didn't press him. He'd seen Geoffrey's real face. The Priwen boy wasn't the only human life Geoffrey had taken before tonight. But that could wait.

The barb of Geoffrey's pain had shifted, moved a little to a place less damaging. It was bleeding freely, but that was good.

They sat together in silence for a long, long time, as Geoffrey processed his own confession. Jonathan was waiting for him to form it into a weapon, to come at him with accusations, violence, hatred.

But instead, when he finally spoke, he said, “Where are we anyway ? I can't help but notice we didn't need an invitation to come in. And it's very... red... ”

Jonathan smiled. “This was Elisabeth's house. Either her daughter hasn't moved in yet, or she meant it when she said I had a home here.”

“Her...daughter.”

“Yes.”

Jonathan offered nothing more, and Geoffrey didn't ask.

Instead, he chuckled. “You're opening my eyes, Reid. To think she was right under the Guards nose this entire time. During the Great Hunt, I had patrols around here every night.”

Jonathan decided against mentioning what had _happened _to some of those Patrols, and said only, “She was... experienced. She survived two great hunts, after all.”

“One.” Geoffrey raised his head and met his gaze fully at last.

“What ?” Jonathan asked, disbelieving, feeling the rage coil again.

“She only survived one Great Hunt. She didn't survive mine.”

Jonathan hit him. He hadn't meant to, but he did. The Hunter was trying to provoke him again, and he was succeeding.

The memory surged again : _You know I won't play this game._

But Jonathan was beginning to solve the puzzle that was Geoffrey McCullum. It wasn't the same game, was it ? Geoffrey wasn't asking Jonathan to kill him. He was fighting. Fighting to survive his own self-loathing.

_Is this really what you want ? _Jonathan left the thought wide open for his progeny to hear. McCullum answered by rising to his feet, looming over him.

_Any time, Doctor. I can take you, any time_.

Slowly, casually, Jonathan got to his feet, chest to chest with the other man. McCullum gave no ground but neither did he.

“I'm not toying with you, Geoffrey. You're my progeny. I won't pretend to know what that really means but you're more to me than either of us expected.”

Geoffrey squared his shoulders and between that, and their connection, Jonathan heard the invitation loud and clear. Jonathan declined to answer it with violence. Instead, he reached out and froze Geoffrey in place. He closed his claws, gently, around the other man's throat and lifted him up, up, exactly as he had before. As soon as he could move again, Geoffrey kicked him in the face.

_NO. _Jonathan commanded. Geoffrey fought the order, but obeyed, helpless.

“I don't know what the Maker-Progeny bond really means. _My _Maker is beyond inhuman. I've seen him four or five times. And I don't fully expect I'll ever see him again. I don't even know how far my power over you goes.” Reid snarled, feeling a different kind of hunger rising. “But I could do this all night and I don't - _want - to_.”

He carried McCullum easily, even at arms length, and dropped him into a chair. The soft fabric startled the Hunter more than the hard floor would have, and Jonathan relished his confusion.

He had pretended to drink tea with Elisabeth in these chairs. But Jonathan didn't care anymore. Elisabeth was gone.

Yes, Geoffrey was so much larger than him in every other way. Reid straddled him and took his broad, chiselled jaw between two sharp claws, slicing his cheek in passing as he turned his progeny's head this way, and that. Geoffrey was breathing hard, tense, ready to fight again, resisting the grip.

He was beautiful, Reid had to admit. No wonder if men and women found him so. Reid, the man he had been, had never thought of other men that way. But he wasn't that man anymore. The things he'd seen, the things he'd done...

A trickle of blood slipped from Geoffrey's cut cheek, slithered down, and curved beneath his jaw. Reid watched it, felt his lips twitch in a small, obscene smile. Yes, Geoffery was beautiful. And he belonged to him. He wouldn't let him throw himself on Priwen's stakes, or his own.

Reid tilted the Hunter's head back and leaned in. If the Hunter had the will to attack him now, he'd never get a better chance to kill him. If the Hunter had a stake, he'd be dead before he realised the danger. But the Hunter had neither and Reid brushed his lips down the thick neck, breathing in the whiskey-smoke-blood scent of his progeny, and bit.

Geoffrey exhaled, hard, and failed to stifle a moan. Reid had never tried to make this pleasant before, but it turned out to be so easy. His blood was intoxicating – heavy with the fire that burned inside him, spicy with the hit of nicotine. He didn't take much, not too much, before he let the Hunter go and faced him again.

Fair was fair, and Jonathan sliced his own tongue with a fang. He had given Geoffrey this kiss once before. This time, he suspected he wouldn't fight it.

He was right. The Hunter's mouth opened to receive his tongue and at the taste of mingled blood, Jonathan felt both of them tense with need, spasming Geoffrey up and into his Maker's kiss. The Hunter's mouth tasted of smoke and cheap whiskey and human blood, and his tongue lapped and teased at his as Geoffrey drank.

The walls between them came down. The connection was wide open.

_You are mine. _He reminded him – a firm mental contact that made Geoffrey shiver as his broad hands travelled up Jonathan's long thighs. They were both slaves to instinct now and Reid discovered that he enjoyed the hard press of Geoffrey's manhood rising beneath him. The coat was still soaking, Geoffrey's chest was still bare. Jonathan let his hands roam over the Hunter's overlapping scars. There was barely an inch of the man that wasn't a rough testament to his battles.

The taste of blood was so sweet that Jonathan was lost in it, lost in the bloody history written on Geoffrey's body, until he realised that Geoffrey was only holding him with one hand. The other was pressed down between them, and he was rutting against it, desperate but still trying to fight it, unwilling to press into him without permission.  
  
But first, Jonathan had to know. He broke away from the kiss and held himself above Geoffrey, looking down into his face, seeing beyond the mask and letting Geoffrey see the same in him. He _felt _Geoffrey's rising need, even seeing Jonathan as he really was. His maker could have ended him in a heartbeat, even now. Reid was a monster and he wouldn't hide it from this man. But the Hunter had no fear of the Dragon in his arms. No fear at all.

Reid inhaled gently, savouring Geoffrey's scent. And gave him the permission he needed.

****   
  
It was all that had held him back. Geoffrey surged up and threw an arm around Jonathan's back, lifting him, reversing their positions in one, smooth motion, kissing his Maker hard as he laid him down on the carpet. He kissed his mouth, the line of his jaw, his neck, barely suppressing the urge to bite. His lips found Jonathan's collarbone while his practised fingers worked down the buttons of his shirt.

Pain lanced through him as Jonathan declared his impatience by slicing raggedly through his coat. The fabric slid down his arms and his blood chased it to his wrists. Even in this position, Jonathan would never let Geoffrey forget where the power lay between them.

He obeyed the command, slicing the shirt from Jonathan's chest instead, kissing his way down the line of his body, lapping and licking wherever he had torn the skin in passing. The skin was warm and the wounds closed quickly; Jonathan had also fed well tonight.

He tried to hold onto that thought. Tried to remind himself of exactly who and what he was kissing so tenderly. But he couldn't. The need was too strong.

Jonathan was a monster. And Geoffrey tried to remember that, even as he reached the thin, teasing line of dark hair and ran his hand up the inside of his crotch, gently, carefully dragging a claw to slice his trousers apart where Jonathan's mutual need had drawn the fabric tight. His cock sprang free and Geoffrey found himself nuzzling at it, teasing up the shaft with tiny kiss until his lips found the warm, salty precum at its tip.

Jonathan was a killer. The thing Geoffrey had hunted since he was a boy – the monster nightmares were made of. He tried, he tried so hard to remember that, but it slipped away as he licked the tip of his Maker's cock clean and took the whole into his mouth.

Jonathan moaned in pleasure and lifted his hips to meet him, forcing himself deeper, resting one hand on Geoffrey's head to force him to receive it. His point made, Jonathan subsided and let him choose the pace. But his hand still rested on Geoffrey's head, the thumb idly stroking his forehead as Geoffrey took him, teasing with his tongue at the apex of each long, deep draft.

Jonathan's pleasure sang in Geoffrey's blood, so that each startling flick of his tongue over and under the head of Jonathan's cock was a jolt along his own. He let the tip of his fangs score the sides of Jonathan as he swallowed him, and the pain was a rolling, unfolding pleasure. They were both free from the fear of injury. Any damage done would heal within moments. And that freedom was more gratifying than Geoffrey could have imagined, spiced with the dark taste of his Maker's blood.

He sent his hands wandering as his mouth worked, relishing the small salty spurts that rewarded him as found and tormented a tiny, hard nipple. Then down, stroking the velvety skin of Jonathan's taint, letting one finger tease against the wrinkled skin of his asshole, stroking, probing, taking that part slowly... for Reid's sake.

He had no thoughts of anything more. He had meant to, but there was too much to explore, too much to try, as each movement he made rolled from Jonathan's body and repeated itself in his own. But he felt Jonathan creeping into him, calling him to hold back. He fought it. He didn't want to stop. He had already cum once tonight. It was time to catch Jonathan up.

He heard his Maker laugh aloud, gasping, as Geoffrey's answer struck him. And Jonathan let go, forcing the palm of his hand against Geoffrey's head, driving the rhythm, his hips bucking in small, desperate movements as his balls curled tight in Geoffrey's palm. Then he went off like an explosion and Geoffrey swallowed him down, feeling the release roll from his Maker, into him, and rob him of his senses.

  
***  
  
When he finally drifted back, Geoffrey found his head on Jonathan's chest and Jonathan twining his fingers in his hair. The silence was strange – no heartbeat at all – but the smell and feel of him was enough. The air around them was thick with musk, the smell of Jonathan, sex and blood. He let himself lie easily, feeling out the open space in his chest; the one left by the tension he had released tonight.

At least if he was damned, he wasn't damned alone. Jonathan was a monster, but addressing that could wait. The sun was rising. He could rest. It had been a long damn time.

Tomorrow, he would change these fucking trousers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lamb enters the lion pit, and the Hunter considers his options.

A long blink. Awake again.

No weapon to hand. Reid stirring underneath him.

Head up, scan the room. A fireplace. A poker : iron, not wood. But enough.

Geoffrey pushed up and leapt.

“Too slow.” The vampire was on him – shadows spinning away as he landed heavily on Geoffrey's back, nails digging in, driving him down into the carpet. “Not tonight either.”

Reid's cold hand closed on the back of his neck, holding him down as he curled over him. He bent to brush his lips against the spots where his nails had broken the skin, teasing the blood away with quick darts of his agile tongue. It felt good, and Geoffrey was disgusted.

“Get off me.”

The vampire didn't stop.

He got his hands under his chest, and pushed up hard as he shouted this time, “Get off me!”

The vampire slid away from him as he surged upwards. But by the time Geoffrey stood, panting hard, teeth bared, the vampire was already coiled in one of the plush, crimson chairs, his long legs crossed languidly in front of him. Without his shirt and with the hole torn in his trousers, he was somehow more naked, more explicit, than if he wore nothing at all.

He was watching Geoffrey. Not quite smiling, not quite frowning, just looking... intrigued.

_I suppose it could be a response to trauma. _His Maker's thoughts drifted into his mind. _Some as-yet uncategorised type of melancholia -_

“SHUT UP.” Geoffrey roared, slamming his hands over his ears for all the good it would do.

At least Reid looked surprised. It was a relief to shake him up a little in return for...for everything. Geoffrey felt unclean.

“Is there a bath in this place ?” He growled.

“Upstairs.” The vampire pointed, spinning his wrist without moving otherwise. “On the right.”

“Good. Don't follow me.”

The vampire smirked, but called after him gently. “And Geoffrey -”

_I am sorry. This part is still new to me._

“Stay out of my fucking head.” The Hunter growled as he stalked upstairs.

****

It felt good, Jonathan admitted, to have a case to work on. Even if that case was someone he was now rather _closer _to than expected, this was at least a problem he had known would come one day. Once a doctor, always a doctor...

Charlotte must have received his letter, with its news of her mother and the attached requests. There were clean clothes in his size waiting in the drawer. The trousers might be a little tight around Geoffrey's muscular legs, but they would do. He slung an extra pair over the chair for him and went to clean himself up in the basin.

After that, he was taking stock of the house when he realised he could hear a heartbeat drumming on the driveway. The other colours drained away as he watched her come closer. She sounded distressed, but her blood was healthy, vital …. and known to him.  
  
Tempting.

However, he had fed well last night, and he wasn't an animal. That being the case, he ought to at least act like a gentleman. He crossed the lobby and opened the door for her.

Charlotte Ashbury, looking dishevelled but severe in her usual grey blouse and tie, gave a small, hoarse cry.  
  
"Oh !" He saw her heart skip before she recognised him. “Oh, Doctor -” She stepped forward, arms open to embrace him.

Strong hands seized Jonathan from behind and yanked him away from her. He landed on his back on the carpet, gazing up into a veritable portrait of divine wrath. McCullum was steaming from the hot shower – coils of it rising from his naked skin as the Hunter stood facing down the vampire, interposing himself between them.

“I know I can't stop you all the time, Reid.” He growled, “But I won't let you kill an innocent when I'm around.”

“Geoffrey!” Jonathan didn't know if he was grinning or grimacing, hissing with laughter or rage. Then, he saw past him. “Charlotte, stop. It's alright.”

Surprised, Geoffrey turned his head to really look at the woman he had come to save. Charlotte had drawn her stake. It had been impressively quick, actually. She had surely seen Geoffrey emerge from the shadows, drawn her conclusions and acted.

Geoffrey spoke with real warmth as he looked back to the doctor. “Oh,” He smiled, “I like her.”

Reid stood up, brushing himself off. “Miss Charlotte Ashbury. I'd like to introduce yourself to my Progeny, Geoffrey McCullum.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir.” Charlotte replied automatically, glancing down, then up again, pushing the door closed.

“Charmed.” Geoffrey nodded back with not the least self-consciousness. “I'll be back in a moment.”

He let the shadows envelop him, carrying him back up, over the bannister, the way he had come. Immediately, Charlotte's laughter broke. It had a hysterical edge, riding the adrenaline spike, but the grief was there too. She fought to breathe as tears fell and laughter rolled into sobs.

Charlotte was a strong woman; a fighter at the core. But she had also just lost her mother.

Reid wanted to comfort her but knew already that he would not. He held his distance. This was the seductive dance of an addict courting his drug, telling himself he could stop if he wanted to. Charlotte would be all too willing a partner in that dance. One day, she would get too close at the wrong time. One day, he would take her.  
  
One day.

Geoffrey might have made the right call after all.

“Charlotte, I'm sorry to surprise you like this, but do you remember what I told you ? About trusting vampires ?”

Charlotte drew a long breath, trying to steady herself. “It feels like such a long time ago, Doctor Reid... But, if I recall, you said 'do not'.”

“Yes. And that sooner or later, any mortal will just be blood in the eyes of a vampire, no matter the connection between them.”

“Oh, yes. I remember now.” Charlotte was starting to catch her breath at last, “I recall you drew some pretty vivid imagery.”

Jonathan composed himself, straightening out his shirt and waistcoat.“Yes. I know we share our grief. But don't try to hold me, ever again.”

Charlotte looked up at him, outraged. “I don't need you to lecture me, doctor. I was raised by a vampire, remember ?”

“Yes, you do.” He didn't hold back the growl, the hint at the monster beneath. “You had a moment of weakness and that's understandable in the circumstances. But if you forget again, I can't be sure of your safety.”

“Doctor Reid,” Charlotte snapped back, “If you ever pose a danger to me, rest assured that I will defend myself.”

An unjust urge rose up in Reid; the urge to show her very how wrong she was. But she wasn't Geoffrey, who couldn't be hurt in any lasting way, and he didn't _want_ to kill her. Charlotte wasn't thinking, she was grieving and lashing out.

“Good God, Reid.” The man himself joined them. “Have you never even encountered a woman before in your life ?”

Geoffrey was at least partially dressed now. The trousers were indeed a bit tight, but the result was pleasing. Reid raised an eyebrow, “And you have some insights, I take it ?”

“You'd be surprised how many women join the guard, usually with,” He nodded meaningfully at Charlotte, “Some recent loss in their lives. She doesn't need you to treat her, doctor. Just admit you have self-control issues and ask for her to help. **You** need her to keep her distance.”

“I'd add,” Charlotte interjected, sniffing, regaining control of herself now that she had anger as a shield. “That you also shouldn't talk about her like she's not there.”

“Also,” Geoffrey smirked, “Never talk about her like she's not there, unless she lets you get away with it.”

It had been a poor joke and Charlotte's laugh wasn't fully sincere, but it was a release. She had heard him, heard them both perhaps, and accepted it. Meanwhile, Reid was just pleased to see Geoffrey seeming so carefree, back in his element. Still... He pushed the words hard into Geoffrey's mind : _Self-control problems? Does the pot think the kettle black ?_

The Hunter met his eyes with a wry smile, but said nothing more.

Charlotte made them all tea, and they discussed trivialities at the table for a while: her campaign, her adoption, her thanks to Reid for making sure she hadn't only heard about her mother when the lawyers made contact. Jonathan watched them both, intrigued. Geoffrey seemed to relish the human contact from someone who knew what he was, and didn't care.

But Jonathan could guess where Charlotte would like this conversation to go, and that would not do right now. An idea was forming, one with a sense of justice to it. If Geoffrey wanted her safe, he would make her safe; if Charlotte wanted something from them, she could work to earn it.

“Ms Ashbury.” He began. “If you are able to accommodate us, we do have a problem I'd like to ask you to help with.”

Geoffrey's expression hardened, and he didn't take his eyes off his Maker. Jonathan knew why; he could feel it himself. He was on the hunt again, closing the distance on solving the puzzle. The Hunter could read that easily in the tone of his voice, the set of his shoulders, the way he held himself, poised as if to bite.

Charlotte seemed to see it too, but she welcomed it. “You were very dear to my mother, Doctor Reid. I would be happy to, if I can.”

“If I remember correctly, you knew me for a vampire the moment we met. Your mother trained you well to recognise the signs, no matter how well hidden. We have need of someone with that training.” Geoffrey shifted, his hands tensing with unease. “My Progeny would like to pass for human, even to such seasoned gazes as yours. I would like you to help him learn.”

Charlotte took a moment to process, considering. He saw her stifle her automatic acquiescence, and a mercenary tone entered her voice. “It's an unusual request, doctor. I'll be happy to help when I can.” She leaned forward, hands around her cup, glancing from Jonathan to Geoffrey and back again. “But I hope you understand, given that these classes would need to take place at night, I won't always have the time. I do need to sleep, of course, and my campaigning...”

Jonathan rose from the table. “If you succeed with this to the standard he needs, you will have all the time in the world for your campaigning. I promise.”

Just like that, she was safe. The hunger settled down like a beast, lazy and content. It could wait. He could wait.

He couldn't tell if Charlotte's face flushed with excitement or embarrassment. Charlotte had turned almost every conversation they'd had onto discussing her wish to become a vampire, even after her friend Emily had died seeking the same. Perhaps she had thought she wasn't so transparent ?

The girl had a fearlessness born of complacency. Still, Jonathan was fairly convinced that his own blood was potent enough not to fail the same way. As a blood specialist, he could think of a half-dozen ways to investigate... to mitigate the risk to her ... but if she was so determined to seek out this course, to become an unliving predator like he was, Jonathan felt the justice in letting the risk be hers to take.

She drew a short, excited breath, looking up at him with eyes that were wide, hopeful and hungry. Geoffrey didn't mistake it. His eyes hardened again even as Charlotte said primly, “Very good, doctor. I'm happy to get started as soon as you're both ready.”

“Start now.” Jonathan concluded. “Geoffrey needs a coat if he's ever going to pass for mortal in the middle of winter. You two can begin, and I'll look forward to seeing the initial results when I return.”

He didn't turn back as he strode to the door, even though he could feel Geoffrey's glare burning into him. He closed his mind to his progeny. Geoffrey had wanted him to stay out of his head. He would oblige and see how he fared.

With that savage thought, Jonathan went on the hunt.

****

Despite all Jonathan's intentions, Geoffrey felt it the moment his Maker killed. As Jonathan dipped his head, and dragged the life out of his victim, he was thinking of his Progeny.

Geoffrey was instantly lost, overwhelmed by the tide. The new depth of Jonathan's feeling was staggering. His thoughts came in like a fist through velvet, crushing and delicious at once. A crimson storm of lust and desire - the need to possess - the need to protect – the need to control – the need for release - tenderness and malice combined. The emotions clawing and tearing at each other...

Geoffrey had been partly wrong about vampires. They weren't just corpses animated by evil. But he had been mostly right – they could delude themselves as much as they liked, but they weren't _people._ People didn't feel things like this.

He held himself very still, aware of what might happen if he rode that wave with Charlotte in the room. As Jonathan withdrew his fangs and threw his head back, the connection faded and went quiet.

The girl really had spent a lot of time around vampires. She didn't say a thing, didn't draw attention to herself, until Geoffrey was fully back in the room.

“Sorry about that.” He muttered, feelings the soft sting as his fangs retracted.

“It's alright.” Charlotte replied automatically, lying for his sake. “I take it that wasn't...deliberate ?”

“No.” Geoffrey rubbed at his face. “Not deliberate.”

Charlotte waited for him to explain, seemed to consider asking when he didn't, then thought better of it.

“Would you like to get back to it ?”

“If I'm honest about it, No.” Geoffrey felt the growl rising in his throat. “No, what I want is to do is save your life and address your misguided fetish for lee- for vampires. I spent my life following trails of victims to the vampires that left them. Sure, I've run into people who'll take a bullet for a leech, but they're always poor, desperate people. People who've been swindled into thinking that becoming a leech will fix their problems. You're a smart lass, wealthy enough for anyone's needs and you're too old to be throwing your life in the gutter just to make a point.”  
  
Charlotte waited until he had run out of steam. Then summoning all the poise of her upbringing she asked with narrowed eyes, “And do _you _have a point, Mr McCullum ?”  
  
“What I've got is a question : Why would you _want _to become like this ?”

“Simply put ? Time. There is too much to do. The gift of eternal life will let me achieve so much more.”

“With respect, miss, a vampire is not just a person who goes on forever. They – we are inhuman. Bloody to the elbows. You'd be trading the freedoms you have, freedoms I'd have killed for as a kid, for a kind of slavery you can't imagine.”

“With_ respect, sir_, you do not know me. I've spent most of my life with a vampire. I understand what it means.”

“**Do** **you** **?”** Geoffrey shouted, then stopped.

He wasn't Jonathan. He could control himself. This wasn't the first time he'd had this conversation. Admittedly, it was the first from this side of the Looking Glass. It was also the first when he couldn't just dismiss it as far more likely to end up with her dead in an alley, never to wake. Jonathan was evil, but he would keep his word.

Charlotte was wary, but determined. “My mother was not evil, Mr McCullum, I am certain of that much. She never hunted strangers – she sustained herself on those poor people who let her ease them through the door rather than die a lingering death. It wasn't easy for her, but it mattered, so she did.”

Geoffrey breathed, calming himself, trying to reach her. “Maybe when you knew her, Ms Ashbury. And that's _only_ a maybe. I'm almost certain now that I know who she used to be and – trust me – your 'mother' was as much a demon as any of us, as much a slave to her blood-lust.”

He talked over her as she tried to interrupt, “No. Trust me. If you become one of us, a demon is exactly what you'll become. Maybe you'll learn to control yourself, so that you can delude yourself later. But the first thing you will do is betray those closest to you. You will take their lives and you _will _do it again, and again. You won't be yourself any more. You'll have no one left.”

Charlotte was silent for a while. He entertained the hope that he was getting through to her, when she said, “Again, _with respect_ Mr McCullum, there _is _no one close to me any more.”

He shook his head. Now that was something he had heard before. There was no point telling her how stupid, how destructive, how _self _destructive her plan was. She already knew.

Together, they lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

“Geoffrey.” She said gently.

“What?”

“You're still too comfortable when you sit down. Move about a bit more.”

Resigned to his fate, and hers, Geoffrey did as he was told. “Like that ?”

“Yes, like that. But more often, more subtly. My mother said once that Ekons don't feel minor pain so much as we poor mortals. Maybe.... maybe try to remember what it felt like to itch, or have a tense muscle, something that hurts... but only a little ?”

Geoffrey tried. He had to admit she was right. He no longer felt any minor pain; there was _nothing_ that only hurt 'a little'.

****

  
“Drink, Geoffrey.”

“I don't need to.”

“Yes, you do.” Jonathan insisted coolly. “Being hungry won't help you blend in. Lady Ashbury was elegant beyond words but... she always looked like she was holding herself in. It suited her. Poise and restraint are the expected hallmarks of a gentlewoman. That won't work for you.”

“You wound me, Doctor.” Geoffrey returned, “It must be a great burden having progeny of such low pedigree.”

Charlotte had retreated to the living room at Jonathan's recommendation. She had given a small sound of dismay at the breakages but saved her questions for later. That left Geoffrey and Jonathan the use of the kitchen; an appropriately un-erotic setting for his purposes. He had offered his bare wrist to the Hunter, but Geoffrey had clenched his hands around the arms of the chair, refusing to take it. That had been unexpected and hard to understand, util he had said he felt Jonathan kill, and didn't want any part of the blood in his veins.

Jonathan held onto his patience. “Geoffrey. Stop. I know that **you** know I'm referring to those who know _you, _vampire hunters who would be instantly suspicious if you kept looking at them like … like a lush looks at a sealed bottle.”

Geoffrey snarled, wordlessly, unable to dispute it but wanting to.

Jonathan pressed on, “If you're determined to sustain yourself mostly on skals, beasts and the rest of them, you need to do it frequently. They don't last as long in our system. I know you're not hungry after last night, but if you drink a little tonight, you **will** stay satisfied for longer.”

The chair arms fractured as Geoffrey's entire frame contracted in self-loathing. He ground his teeth, “I'll take a wild guess, doctor. You've tested that theory yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Why ?”

“It doesn't matter.”

Geoffrey scowled in silence for a moment, before he broke and spat the words out. “Then there's no point me trying to go back to Priwen. If I always have to feed, always have to kill humans, sooner or later, then it doesn't matter if I'm spotted or not. I shouldn't be there.”

“Where is the line, Geoffrey ?” Jonathan withdrew his arm, for now, and sat down beside him. He let his lean fingers rest on the Hunter's thick forearm. Geoffrey didn't pull away. That was proof of progress, in itself.

“The fuck do you mean ?”

“You must have known that not everyone in Priwen restricts their violence to immortals. There are muggings, protection rackets...”

“Not in my Guard, there isn't.” He snarled. “Sometimes they slip in without being spotted, but they're out again soon enough. We don't hurt humans.”

“What about Edgar ?” Jonathan pressed.

“Your _other _Progeny ? What about him?”

“They killed him, Geoffrey. Beat him so badly that his only chance was to become one of us.”

“I'm sure he fought you off with a stick.” The Hunter snapped back.

“Of course he didn't. But I only had two options.” Jonathan hesitated. That wasn't quite true. “Well, three. I could let him die, or save him.”

“Or kill him.”

“It would only have made it quicker.” Jonathan felt the monster creeping into his voice, “He didn't deserve that mercy.”

Geoffrey looked at him then; _really _looked at him, as if straining to see properly something he'd only caught a glimpse of. Jonathan didn't let him ask whatever question was forming – this wasn't about him.

“If you want to try,” Jonathan's tightened his grip, “To convince me that Priwen are agents of grace, despite everything, we can carry on this conversation. But you'll only be arguing that you _never _belonged in their ranks, let alone leading them. And you're not that much of a fool.”

Geoffrey started to pull his arm away, stopped, then continued the motion with a jerk, pushing away hard from the table, giving vent to his frustration with a long, throaty scream.

The sound brought Charlotte scurrying and Jonathan met her in the doorway, shadows riding with him to burst apart between them.

“_Stay away.” _He roared.

Geoffrey's resistance had broken, and she could be in real danger. This time, when he was seized from behind, Jonathan expected it. Geoffrey forced his Maker's head aside with his own and bit down hard on the exposed flesh. Jonathan winced despite himself; Geoffrey made no attempt to be gentle. He was venting his urge for violence on the only target he could forgive himself for.

Even as Jonathan discovered that he found pleasure in that, he smiled to see Charlotte backing away with wide, terrified eyes. He raised his free arm and stroked his Progeny's cheek as he fed, feeling himself satisfied and content. The big arms wrapped around his chest and held him close, shaking, cleaving to him like a lifeline.

It was an important lesson, for both of them.

****

They didn't talk about what had happened in the kitchen, but Charlotte was noticeably more on her guard from then on.

_Good for her, _McCullum thought. She might see better sense than her devil's bargain before the balance came due. When fatigue started dulling her senses, she admitted it outright and let them walk her to her home. The irony of having her virtue and safety guarded by two vampires was lost on none of them. But at least she didn't relax until she was safely behind her own door.

The moment they were out of earshot, Geoffrey stated flatly. “You're using her.”

“We're using her.” Reid corrected. “And giving her a chance to earn what she so badly wants.”

“And if I succeed at this 'training' idea, you'll kill her and bring another monster into this world ?”

“If you think you can change her mind,” Reid said coolly, “You're welcome to try. But I think more experienced immortals than us have tried. She'll get herself killed, one way or another. This way we all get what we want. And it keeps her safe, from me, in the meantime.”

Geoffrey set his jaw and fumbled for his cigarettes in the deep coat pocket. “We'll see.”

At least Reid hadn't tried to give him the dead man's clothes. This new coat was thick, warm and long. There had been a hat as well, to help him avoid recognition, but something had made Geoffrey discard it. It felt too much like hiding.

They walked together in silence. Reid had taken a cigarette for himself, let Geoffrey light it, then breathed deep, savouring the flavour. Geoffrey shivered to realise that he'd never seen the doctor smoke before, and suspected his reasons for enjoying the taste now.

Finally, McCullum couldn't bear the doctor's light step and calm facade any longer.

“Why do you want me back with Priwen so badly ?” He snapped.

The vampire hesitated. He seemed perplexed, almost hurt. “Don't you want to ? I assumed...” He trailed off.

Geoffrey was ready. He didn't let himself be distracted from the question. “I don't know. But I can't believe it's pure generosity coming from you. It'd take more than dying to make me that naïve. Why does returning me to Priwen matter to you ?”

Reid's eyes searched his face, but his maker seemed to be learning to control their connection. Geoffrey didn't catch a glimpse of the real thoughts beneath the mask.

After a long moment, he smiled. “Geoffrey... You really expect me to be able to answer that, when I know you barely understand your own motivations ? All things aside, we're both newly born in this world. I just know that it's what you want.”

Geoffrey couldn't find an argument to throw against that, but he still didn't quite believe the lie. “And what do _you_ want, beast ?”

Reid was fast, goddammit. His long fingers plucked Geoffrey's cigarette away and the monster pressed his lips against his, forcing his mouth open with the pressure of his kiss. Geoffrey was helpless, no longer fighting, just _feeling_.

_God, I hate him, _Geoffrey thought, but the words weren't as true as he'd like..  
  
Reid moved back again and offered him his cigarette back at arms length. “I'm not... wholly... certain of that either, Geoffrey. But I am enjoying finding out. Unfortunately, I have to return to Pembroke tonight. I don't think you're as much of a danger to yourself now, but please don't prove me wrong.”

He took it back and enjoyed a deep, steadying drag. “So, you consider me a tame enough beast now to let me roam ?”

“You're far from domesticated, Hunter.” Reid purred, “But I think I can let you off the leash.”

“You're an arse.”

“While we're apart, you should know.” Reid went on as they began to walk again, puffing clouds like smoke signals into the air behind them. “There are three people under my protection.” He counted them off on his long fingers, “Charlotte Ashbury, obviously. Sean Hampton. Edgar Swansea. _Do no harm to any of them._"

“I can't promise that, beast. Swansea deserves to pay for what he did.”

“He is.” Jonathan growled, “And he will. But he's not yours to punish.”

Geoffrey shivered as the icy claws of Jonathan's claim walked up his spine. “Fair enough.” He conceded, refusing to show outward sign of his submission out here on the street. “At least so long as he behaves otherwise.”  
  
That had been two hours ago now. While the vampire doctor did his rounds, his progeny wandered. He had meant to hunt for other leeches, but the distance and the walk had cleared Geoffrey's head a little, enough to let him think.

Old instincts and habits roused up when the Hunter called them, and he examined his Maker through that lens. Reid was at his most honest when he let go control of himself. But outside of that...

Questions rose as he turned the question of Reid's motivations around and around. If Jonathan had followed him, why had he waited to intervene with Priwen until it was too late? If Charlotte didn't live at the manor, what had brought her there tonight ? And then there was the silence that surrounded the name “Sean”...

Reid hadn't tried to conceal Charlotte. He had mentioned the leech Ashbury's 'daughter' readily enough. McCullum could accept that it was his own fault for assuming 'progeny' rather than a real, living person. But all he had for 'Sean Hampton' was a name, and a prohibition. Finishing the list with Swansea had been a dirty trick – enough to distract the Hunter. But had it been deliberate ?

Geoffrey walked. He did not get lost in his thoughts, did not forget to stay alert for Priwen this time, but he took the time to turn the questions over in his mind.

Vampires were creatures of deceit, whether they intended it or not. It was part of their nature : being dead, seeming alive. Geoffrey wanted to... was almost ready to believe that Reid wasn't actively trying to manipulate him. But was he really that naïve, despite what he'd said ? Was he really so lost ?

Did he ever really see Reid as he was, or just what his Maker _wanted _him to see ?

Reid was either hiding something, or he _wanted _Geoffrey to investigate. He'd hunted vampires long enough to consider either option significant.

Geoffrey McCullum had never been known for his caution. But he was methodical. He wouldn't rush.

Still, he had his freedom such as it was, and he used it well, thinning the Skal population further.

Later, he found an empty house to hole up in. Jonathan checked on him before sunrise, arriving as a song in Geoffrey's blood and a dark shadow in the room, punctuated by the two glowing red eyes. He said nothing, only acknowledged that Geoffrey was safe, nodded, and withdrew.

_Bloody broody vampire. _McCullum smirked despite himself, as he let himself become heavy and took the long blink.

****  
  
He awoke with the sense of daylight still pressing down upon him, heavy and oppressive. That wasn't right. Something had -

A gruff voice from below. “Check upstairs.”

_Shit_.

Was it Priwen, or just the undertakers doing their rounds to sanitise the neighbourhood ? Either way, he couldn't let them find him. His thoughts were slow, struggling, groggy. Not knowing how much time was passing, knowing he didn't have enough of it, he scanned the room.

A wardrobe.

It felt daft, smacking of childish games of hide and seek. But he didn't have other options. He hauled himself into it with cold and clumsy hands and closed the door behind him. As the men searched, he focused everything on staying awake, on making no sound, on holding the door closed and motionless.

“Nothing up here.” They called back.

Geoffrey waited until he heard them leave the house and move on entirely. He had chosen his haven poorly, apparently. He'd have to remember... have to remember to remind his men to check... to check …

He hauled himself awake again. With fumbling fingers, he tore one of the hanging shirts and used the thin fabric to tie the door closed from the inside. Then he let himself slump.

Nothing to see here. Just a corpse in a cupboard.

_Fucks sake. _He thought, and slept again.

****

The shame followed him long after he had woken, torn the sash away and left the house. He could too easily imagine those vampires he had dragged into the sun delighting in his humiliation, hissing, '_Not so easy, is it ?'_

The only consolation was that he'd had no reason to be on guard. This poor beaten whore of a city had more fight in her than he'd have imagined after a war, a plague, and a vampire epidemic. She was already finding her feet. With the beasts declining, more citizen patrols were surviving and starting to expand in some areas – not just militias like Priwen, but patrols to remove the dead, clear the rubble, excise the rot. They were reclaiming the city for the living. God bless humanity and its refusal to roll over and die.

No matter how much he disliked the idea, he would need to pick and prepare a regular haven.

Charlotte wasn't at her apartment. Instead, she was waiting in the manor, waiting for him, waiting to earn her pay. He didn't want to go inside. He only wanted to turn away, but he needed time to think without Reid hovering over him. To do that, he needed to play his part.

“Good evening, Mr McCullum.” She welcomed him, charming as ever and eager to get started.

“Good evening, Ms Ashbury.”

It wasn't hard. They were creatures of deception after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience and kind words, lovelies. I wanted to wait until I'd finished a later chapter before posting this one, so I could be sure it tied together properly. You'll see why ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I've split this chapter in two, because I feeeeeel like this part needs a trigger warning)
> 
> Trigger Warning : Self Harm (Cutting)

Patience was not a virtue that McCullum treasured, but long practice could make up for that. He'd be a fool to believe Reid's professed motivations, but he could be patient and bide his time while he put the pieces together. Of course, his complicity wouldn't save the girl. But Reid would only kill her anyway if he ran.

In the meantime, Reid evidently intended to keep up his charade of shaping McCullum to return to Priwen. So long as he did, McCullum could remain patient and play along. Progress would mean that much more control over himself. 

And so, he stopped fighting a little. Routine folded around its comforts around him.

For most of the night, while Reid was elsewhere, McCullum worked with Charlotte. When fatigue caught up with her, he'd insist on walking her safely home, then carry on into the night, hunting monsters.

When dawn threatened, he would return to the manor and Reid would join him there. Sunrise would find the two of them sleeping buck-naked in the wide bed. At sunset, McCullum always woke to find himself curled against his Maker's chest; Reid always with his long fingers twined in McCullum's hair.

The first time, Geoffrey had awoken to the realisation and grumbled resentfully into Reid's chest; “There are no fucking weapons in this room.”

Reid had laughed – a gentle and human sound – and kissed the top of his head. “Please don't break the bed to make one. I think it's an antique.”

Though it had made Geoffrey shiver, nothing more had happened. It hadn't been possible to work out why. McCullum knew that he was holding himself back, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Reid was also withdrawing.

The second time was different. When he growled his complaint about weapons, Reid only stroked his cheek and purred, “We both know that's a lie.”

McCullum looked up into that crocodile smile. Then he rolled over, wrapping his arms underneath Reid, cupping his shoulder-blades, then sliding up to the back of his neck, to the back of his head, closing in fistfuls of short, silky hair. The motion arched Reid up, shifting the balance of power in McCullum's favour.

“Careful, leech.”

Jonathan only tilted his chin and smiled again.  
  
Morning wood was inevitable even in death, it seemed. Now it drew two hard lines between them, sensitive and painful. Geoffrey adjusted them both, spreading Reid's legs with his own as he kept the vampire arched back, vulnerable. Whatever suspicions dogged him, Geoffrey couldn't fight _this. _Not when Reid was here, blood calling to blood, his eyes half-lidded, challenging him.

It had been three days since McCullum had fed on anything, and he had woken with the thirst hot in his throat. Tonight, he was certain that Reid was in his head. He could feel him goading him – whispers as soft as kisses behind his eyes. When his lips found the nape of Reid's neck, McCullum was more than willing to answer.

But Reid surged up suddenly, batting Geoffrey's chin aside as his Maker tore free from his grip, knocking him easily away. The sheets tangled Geoffrey's legs as he tumbled to the floor, swearing bloody murder.

“Not tonight, Hunter.” Reid panted breathlessly.

Geoffrey heard the savage roar before he fully realised it was his. He leapt, reaching, seizing Reid with his own claws bared. Reid twisted in his grip, lithe as a snake. Geoffrey twisted with him, not looking, not seeing, just reading the flex of muscles under his hands, under his shoulder, against his stomach. Then Reid had him. But he only had him for a moment, locking his arm with Geoffrey's talons still embedded in his chest, and he didn't anticipate Geoffrey driving hard into the pain, lifting Reid off his feet. For all his terrible power, his Maker was as light as a feather as Geoffrey whipped around, rolled him off and drove him into the wall with an audible crack.

God, but they were powerful together.

Too powerful.

Streamers of plaster dust hung in the air, framing the image of Reid below him. He held his Maker pinned under his huge hands, flexing his bloodied talons, feeling their roots in his fingertips twitching in time with the ache of his erection; the throb of his part-time pulse.

Securing his grip, he went for Reid's throat.

_Stop, Geoffrey. _

Muscles locked, joints froze, Geoffrey stopped.

The command was irresistible. Geoffrey knew he couldn't fight it directly. But he flexed around it, seeking the soft spot, a weakness he could escape through. If he wasn't allowed to drink, well then... his mind ran red with the very long and very sordid list of the other things he could do ...

“My, Geoffrey...” Reid chuckled, hearing it loud and clear. There was still a hint of embarrassment in his voice, enough to make Geoffrey's heart hurt and his cock twitch. “But not tonight.”

_STAY._

“No.” Geoffrey growled, not fully certain what he was denying. He was still half-insensible with need, the drive of both hungers aching.

“You didn't feed at all last night, did you ?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Geoffrey looked away from his claws in Reid's bloodied shoulder and into his Maker's eyes. The red irises and pitiless black scelera were plain to see; the catlike pupils no wider than razor cuts, keen and cruel. It felt like a cold knife sliding into his guts. But he couldn't pull away. He still felt Jonathan's thoughts inside him, keeping the heat of his ardour alive.

“I have something planned.” His Maker said, smiling.

McCullum went fully cold. He swallowed hard and tried to get a grip on himself. Despite the sting of his fangs and the throbbing, driving ache at his crotch, he could not mistake Reid's tone. Whatever that meant... Whatever Reid's plans were... He had let himself forget... let himself forget to hold himself back... let himself forget what Reid was...

_Reid had been so helpless underneath him._

“No.” He said again, trying to shift the image. It wasn't him remembering it, was it ? It was Reid.

The monster growled. “Get dressed, Geoffrey.”

“No.” He managed to bite the word out with more conviction. “Get out of my head.”

It was his Maker's turn to say it. One word, a single damned syllable, rolled from his lips and tongue like an obscene caress. “No.”

_Get dressed, Geoffrey. _

He got dressed. He had to. But obedience didn't mean compliance. He yanked on his trousers without underwear, and left his shirt hanging open. His thoughts were a crimson mess of hungers, but when his hand strayed to his cock to attend to his own damned self, Reid stopped him again.

_No, Geoffrey. _

“Damned leech” He hissed.  
  
Reid's monstrous eyes were implacable, undisguised. He didn't know what the monster intended, he didn't understand any of it. The red tide was too high to see over. But the part of him that wasn't consumed in it was deeply, truly afraid. Jonathan's hand brushed the front of his tented trousers, stroking him briefly, urging his pain towards a crescendo.

He was half-blind with it as Jonathan cupped the back of his neck and lead him through the door.

Blood. He could smell blood.

The moment he sensed it, all his worst fears came home. Blood. The sound and smell of it, close-by and rushing through a heart on the brink of terror. It fled away from the stairs as they came down.

He tried to break free, tried to resist, but his own body marched on relentlessly. He didn't give up. He wouldn't surrender. He fought for it, fought for control against his monstrous Maker, against his own monstrous nature, losing against both. The leech had played him like a fiddle. He had been a naïve fucking fool.

For all it was his own fault, it hurt as much as a betrayal. It tore into him, deep and red and raw, and ripped away his sense of himself.

****

Jonathan was honest with himself these days. He was enjoying this.  
  
He didn't need to be gentle with Geoffrey any more. His certainty that Reid was up to something had restored him immensely. The Hunter was already far less fragile, fighting back, regaining his sense of purpose.

But it was too deeply satisfying to force him back over the edge. He felt the same thrill now as when he had seized the Hunter's head in his hands and given him that fatal kiss. McCullum had been the monster other monsters feared; a fanatic, driven by the conviction that there were no exceptions; they were all indiscriminate killers, mindless animals without self-control.

He had already been just such a monster and hadn't known it. Now, he couldn't escape it.

He'd had _no idea _what self-control really was.

Jonathan had known better, even then. It might be true for the more visibly monstrous immortals like the Vulkod, but it wasn't true for Ekons. Waiting was part of Ekon nature. Holding back, stalking their victims, coming to know their blood even before they ever tasted it. Reid had been able to spare people, even forgone feeding completely when necessary. But even when he did that, even when Elisabeth had done that, it wasn't a denial of what they were. It was part of it.

A part that Geoffrey had to come to terms with.

So he drank in the vision of McCullum, fangs bared, blue irises drowning in red, every fibre of his body lost to animal hunger, and controlled his own temptation to simply take him back upstairs, lock them both in, and let him go.

No, they had more important things to do tonight.

He almost lost control of Geoffrey twice. Though he swore he'd never admit it to the man, there was a moment when Jonathan wondered if, _perhaps_, he had overreached himself. Reid was a powerful Ekon, but Geoffrey was his progeny and lost in a blood rage. Jonathan caught him the second time he broke free, but only because Geoffrey was suddenly extremely interested in the wrist he had once disdained. Jonathan had smacked him between the eyes. If the enraged Ekon hadn't been so far gone that he lost a few moments, bewildered by the blow and his lack of success in feeding, Reid wasn't sure he'd have contained him.

But those few moments were all he needed. Jonathan pushed him down into room's new centrepiece; an iron chair. He pinned one arm and closed the manacle before Geoffrey could fling himself forward again. After that, it was just a case of moving aside whenever his Progeny made a desperate, grasping lunge and being thorough as he bound the other limbs. That, and hoping that Charlotte had seen his instructions followed precisely.

She had. The chair held. The bolts driven deep into the floor held. And though he strained and railed against it, Geoffrey was held.

“Come in, Charlotte.” He called. “He's contained.”

The chair was wrought iron. Vampiric strength might be able to bend it, but not with the leverage possible for its occupant. Geoffrey could easily open the manacles if he somehow got one hand free, but Jonathan would be there to prevent that. The rest of the contraption was comprised of leather straps. They wouldn't last. Still, he attached them anyway at across the chest, biceps and thighs. Then he stood back to savour the result.

Charlotte had gone pale and her heart was racing. Seeing that, Jonathan knew this would be another lesson well learned. Ekons weren't silvered ships sailing through the sea of eternal night. _This_ was the visceral truth beneath the lie they told the world.

“Remember,” He said, showing her again before he passed the knife to her. “Back of the arm and across, not down. Don't risk cutting too deeply but there's wadding is on the table if you make a mistake. Just press it down firmly to the wound. Staunch the bleeding, and I'll be with you to help … As soon as I can. But I'd really prefer to avoid that.”

She nodded and swallowed hard against the dryness in her throat. He knew then, by the way her eyes lingered, that she could see him truly. He had let go of whatever instinctive mechanism he used to hide himself. And she knew at last what she had locked herself in with.

Her voice was a whisper. “And don't get too close.”

“And don't get too close.” He confirmed.

He walked slowly to Geoffrey's side, kneeling by the chair.

“Geoffrey.”

The vampire whipped his head towards the sound, snarling.

_Come back, Geoffrey. _

His eyes flickered, darting, some semblance of reason starting to return.

_Come back._

The eyes settled on him, full of rage and the sting of betrayal.

“Hello, my Progeny. I have noticed that you struggle to control yourself when you're emotional.”

An animal noise. Thick and resentful.

“And sometimes, you _will _get emotional.”

Geoffrey was swallowing hard, fighting his way back to reason, trying to form the words.

“So, tonight, we're going to train you better.”

He nodded to Charlotte. She hesitated for a moment. For all her strength of character, she was still human, with human instincts. Then she drew the knife around sharply. The smell of human blood filled the air.

Oh, but she smelled _good._

Jonathan slid away from it, away from them both, and slipped into the chair waiting for him. Charlotte was almost rigid with adrenaline as the blood welled up and spilled over the edge of the wound. She stood almost as far away as she could get from the iron chair, and waited.

In his weakened state, McCullum fell immediately into the blood haze again. Gone was the self-assured, charming Irishman Charlotte thought she knew. Here was the beast Jonathan had created, straining against his bonds. Angry welts were already forming at his wrists.

Even expecting it, Jonathan found himself sipping at the air, taunting himself with the lure he had set for Geoffrey.

It was best he kept his eyes open, his mind active and his thoughts clinical. There was a good chance that Charlotte would die tonight, but he would keep his word if the worst happened. Geoffrey wouldn't kill her. He wasn't going anywhere. But it had been a while since Jonathan had played cat-and-mouse so recklessly with his own instincts. Tonight, he would find out just how good his control still was.

As the minutes ticked by, Geoffrey began to subside, no longer shredding his wrists against the restraints. Now his throat and mouth were moving spasmodically, out of time with each other, making sounds that weren't quite words. Another minute. Geoffrey slumped as the the incoherent sounds resolved into a rhythmic pleading. Still not words, but closer to words. Another minute, and Geoffrey drew a long, shuddering breath.

“When you can talk to me,” Jonathan said slowly, knowing Geoffrey was listening. “When we can have a conversation, then we can talk about releasing you. Charlotte, step forward. Two steps.”

She had to steel herself but did as she was told. The movement caught Geoffrey's attention and the smell of approaching blood was enough to drive him back to the brink. Charlotte had done well. The cut was just as he had shown her on his own arm last night. It was thin, shallow, just above the extensor muscle and already clotting. If anything, the next one would need to be deeper.

Geoffrey came back to himself more quickly this time, gritting his jaw and visibly forcing his fangs back. “I'll fucking ...” He growled.

“Charlotte, another two steps.”

With a desperate, wounded sound, Geoffrey succumbed.

This time, as Geoffrey fought to get a hold of himself, the pleading tone was gone. He was wrapping himself around his anger, whispering, almost chanting, “I'll fucking kill you, Reid. I'll fucking kill you."

“Not tonight.” He whispered. Then, louder. “Another step.”

More minutes passed.

“Raise your arm to him, Charlotte”

He didn't want to risk bringing her forward again, but the gesture was too much like an invitation to ignore. Geoffrey shook. He shook violently. A frisson skipped up Jonathan's spine, launching him to his feet.

“Back. All the way.”

She obeyed. Jonathan watched closely. He was certain that Geoffrey had none of his Maker's more potent abilities, but if he had been wrong then Geoffrey could not be contained. He would tear Charlotte apart.

And Geoffrey would never forgive himself for that.

But the shaking subsided quickly. Soon, he could see that Geoffrey was only trembling, at war with his own body. Jonathan came up behind him and rested his head gently on the top of his head, out of reach of his teeth. He kept his hand there, soothingly, just being with Geoffrey in this moment. It was the only comfort he could allow. His progeny made a small, mewling sound and pressed against it, like a kitten begging to be fed.

Oh, yes, Geoffrey would never thank him for this, but he would be able to forgive him. He stepped away.

During the break, Charlotte had attended to the first wound, just as he'd shown her. He glanced to her with the question, and she nodded.

“Again.” He commanded, and she picked up the knife.

Jonathan returned to the chair, and made himself comfortable. The smell of blood was a delicate tang in the air from here. Still seductive, but not overpowering. Geoffrey was more compelling by far. His shirt open, all restraint and inhibition lost, utterly powerless to do anything but _want_.

So Jonathan relaxed, and let this new pleasure unfold. They had all night.

***

  
Had hours passed ? It felt like hours had passed.

“I'll fucking kill you.”

Geoffrey was hard; painfully, excruciatingly hard. And he was blind, blind with the need. His eyes must be seeing something, because every time the blood – _Charlotte –_ drew closer, he _knew_. He knew. He knew from the scent how she'd taste. His eyes weren't telling him anything. But they _must_ be....because when the blood welled and broke the banks of the fresh wound, it made him want to break in sympathy with it.

He knew how her skin would feel under his fangs. The way the dark, sweet flesh would pinch before it punctured. He knew how warm she would feel in his arms as he held her to him. He knew how his cock would find the warm, willing wetness of her, feeding while he fucked her.

He knew he had to fight back.

He tried to scream again, though no sound came out of his clenched throat. Charlotte didn't need to do this. She didn't need to obey Him, like he did.

“I'll fucking... I'll fucking kill you... I'll fucking kill you for this.”

She stepped closer and he lost it again. His eyes didn't work, but he felt his own tongue flicking inside his mouth like a snake's. He couldn't get enough of the scent. He needed it closer. He needed it to fill his mouth.

He was not a fucking animal.

“I'll fucking _kill _you.”

Reid's voice slid against him like velvet. “You're doing better, Geoffrey. Better every time.”

Geoffrey tried to turn on him. The leather chest-strap had snapped during his most recent frenzy. It hung limply now and he could twist, turn, just enough to see the bastard watching him. The fucking leech was enjoying what he saw. Trousers unbuttoned, one delicate hand stroking idly, a smile on his lips as he met his Progeny's eyes.

“Charlotte, again.”

God, it hurt. It hurt how much he needed it. The smell of fresh blood mingling achingly with the smell of her sweat, and the scent of both telling him that her terror had shifted into excitement. Her throat must be as dry as his.

“Fuck. You. I'll fucking kill you.”

“That was quick, Geoffrey. You're improving. Charlotte, forward.”

He felt his muscles snap tight, bones jarring at the end of his desperate lunge towards her, his wrists screaming with a pain that was nothing compared to the driving hunger. He forced himself back, sucking deep, desperate breaths of air too thick with the smell to soothe him.

He had to get control of himself. He couldn't get free until he got control of himself.

“I'll fucking kill you.”

“Charlotte, raise your arm.”

Geoffrey bellowed, throat open, fingers curling around the unyielding metal. He didn't breathe in. He couldn't breathe in. She was too close. Too goddamn close. A thin line of sweat trickled down from her hairline, curling like a question mark around her eyebrow.

“I'll fucking kill you, Reid.”

He heard Reid rise to his feet. Those posh soles clicking against the bare floor where the carpet had been moved away. Charlotte's arm trembled, shaking a trickle of blood free to spill, wasted, onto the ground. The red haze drove in from the corner of his vision. The pounding of her heart was deafening.

Reid arrived behind her, as silent as a shadow, and she froze.

Geoffrey could see the individual hairs stand up on her neck as Reid brushed away the dark hair spilling out from her bun. He almost broke again, head down and pulling against the restraints, feeling as though his mouth was nothing but fangs, and tongue, and _need_. But he held, just barely, turning his face up to shake his head, pleadingly, wordlessly, at his Maker.

“Don't.” He whispered.

Reid's inhuman eyes held his. “Don't ?”

“Don't fucking hurt her.”

Reid tilted his head down, resting his lips against the top of Charlotte's head, burying his nose in her hair. He breathed in her scent, and Geoffrey saw his fangs lengthen the lines of his face. This was too fucking dangerous.

“Stop it.”

One monstrously slender hand slid around, cupping against her throat, two fingers resting softly against her pulse. She had frozen in place like a fawn. Her lip was trembling.  
  
“Do you think that counts as 'conversation', Geoffrey ?”

“You'll fucking kill her.” He snarled back.

Reid smiled as his other hand traced down the line of her shoulder, to the arm she had cut for him. It was starting to clot, but the fresh blood was still there, warm and hot under the wound. Little goose-pimples pinched her skin where he touched her. Reid was playing a game with her life.

“Why not ?” Reid breathed the words, as he gently took the weight of Charlotte's arm and drew it back, away from Geoffrey. “It's what she wants. You said so yourself.”

Geoffrey snarled, thrashing as the red haze closed in again. “She doesn't fucking deserve this.”

Charlotte's breasts rose naturally as Reid raised her arm above her head, bringing the back of her arm to his mouth. His long tongue flicked out. “I didn't force her to do this, Geoffrey.”

“You expect me to fucking believe that ? You might not have mesmerised her, in so many words, but you're using her.”

“Yes,” Reid smiled wickedly, his lips hovering against the freshest wound. “But as you've said yourself, I'm a monster.”

Charlotte winced as he closed his mouth over the cut. Her scent came alive, pouring her inner conflict into the air. It surely stung, but she wasn't responding to that. She was responding to his lips on her, his hand on her throat, the subtle draw on her veins as he sucked. He realised that this was the first time she had experienced this; to be treated like something delicious to be consumed. The danger both thrilled and terrified her.

He could do nothing. Neither what he wanted to do, nor what he what he _wanted_ to _want _to do. He was an unwilling voyeur, fighting to intervene but not knowing if he would, even if he could.

He appealed to her directly, desperately. He had never felt so helpless. “Charlotte, he doesn't have enough control. He won't stop.”

She swallowed, nervous, but didn't try to move away. “He - Maybe not.” She said at last. Her accent was as clipped, as controlled as ever. The tremble in that voice didn't diminish it's sincerity. “But I'm alright. I … We wanted to help you. We could have brought someone else, but...” She dropped her gaze, “I'm the best candidate, Geoffrey. Let us help you.”

“I don't need you to do _this _to help me. I can get control of myself on my own.”

“But you haven't, have you ? You've been struggling. Although – ah !” She gasped and stiffened, suddenly standing ramrod-straight and Geoffrey knew Reid's fangs must be against her skin. “But you are controlling yourself now.” Her breath came quickly, fear spiking through her fatigue. “Doctor Reid, this – this seems like a worthwhile **conversation** ?”

As though it had been an agreed command, Reid drew his lips back from her skin. But he didn't take his head away, didn't let her arm drop. Geoffrey marked time by the beat of Charlotte's heart. One. Two. Three.

A normal man might not have seen it, but the vampire hunter could. Reid wasn't there right now. There was only the beast, circling prey that could not run, savouring the moment, taking its time. A leech in that state would never turn away from a kill.

The corner of Reid's mouth twitched and flickered into a smile.

_He's listening to me. _Geoffrey realised.

_Yes. _Reid's thoughts came clearly into his mind as he gave Charlotte's arm one last, chaste kiss and let her go. The girl shivered once, then fled to the far end of the room to sterilise her wounds.

Reid stood in silence for a long moment, watching him. Geoffrey took the reprieve that it offered, breathing the clearing air into his lungs. Together, they held apart, letting the dangerous intoxication pass. Charlotte was still here. Charlotte was still in danger. Reid's eyes were still dark, hungry. His own probably weren't much better.

Eventually, Geoffrey growled, “You couldn't have been sure that you could stop.”

“I wasn't.” Reid answered silkily, “But I'm glad I could.” A smile. “For you.”

Reid raised his own arm to his mouth, and bit down. Despite it all, the crunch was a jolt straight back to Geoffrey's libido; the suppressed hunger clamouring up his throat. Reid didn't set him free, didn't touch the cold, iron manacles, didn't touch _him_.

Reid only offered the bloody wound at arm's length. Geoffrey leaned back and turned his head away. He was ready. Trapped, yes, but not beaten. Though he could not prevent the soft, hungry sound he made, he was thinking, _If I can refuse her blood, I can refuse this. If I can refuse her blood, I can ref- _Jonathan, hearing his thoughts, took the bait. He bent down and drew in enough air to speak, preparing to reassure him, ready to lean his weight on Geoffrey's knee.

Geoffrey whipped around and drove his forehead neatly between the leech's eyes.

Cartilage crunched. Blood arced. Reid made a small, shocked sound and fell backwards.

“You are not feeding me like a fucking pet.” Geoffrey snarled, grinning as the split in his forehead sealed itself. “Now let me out of this fucking chair.”

Charlotte's gasp of surprise burst into a giggle. She tried to stifle it, failed, and her nervous, girlish laughter broke the surviving tension into glittering pieces. Reid was sprawled on the floor, holding his nose and abruptly he was laughing too. He wrenched the broken cartilage back into line with a swift jerk and the blood flow ceased. By the time he took his hand away, even the bruises were gone.

“You never cease to amaze me, Geoffrey.” Reid admitted as he rose, and obliged.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the previous chapter. Trigger warning no longer applies ;)

McCullum had taken himself outside immediately, away from the lingering haze of blood and lust. After attending to Charlotte, Jonathan joined him.

“I need to hunt. You should come inside and feed before I leave. Charlotte will stay clear.”

“No.” The Hunter said firmly, pulling a fresh cigarette and lighting it off the last one.

Jonathan hesitated. “No ? Geoffrey, you did well, but I _can't let you -” _

“Don't !” Geoffrey snapped, fangs bared at the growing _control _in Reid's voice. Then, more gently, “Please. You don't have to, Reid.”

Not meeting his eyes, Geoffrey took the cigarette he'd lit and offered it out to Reid. The Hunter's meaning was clear; it was a peace offering.

Jonathan accepted it. He was intrigued, to say the least. He had thought he was coming to understand McCullum past the point of these mysteries.

“I'm coming with you.” The Hunter said finally.

“Geoffrey...” Caution won out as the tone in Reid's voice, but there had been other options. Primal territoriality, for one.

“I meant what I said, I won't let you kill an innocent when I can stop you, Reid. But, that's not why I'm coming with you. I need...” He broke off. His eyes closed and he took a deep drag, considering his words. In a softer voice, he said. “I need to hunt. I think you know that. We're winning and soon there won't be any Skals left. The beasts have been culled. The last leeches are getting wary. I can't be sure there'll always be some to find.”

Jonathan nodded, drawing deep on the cigarette that tasted of Geoffrey, letting the cloud of smoke coil gently on his cold lips.

“And,” Geoffrey said at last, “I saw you tonight. If I don't learn to hunt, sooner or later, I'll kill someone I don't mean to. You may be a monster, Reid. But you didn't kill that girl.” The cigarette burned down to the filter, and he threw it away. “I need that kind of restraint.”

He had run out of words, and the silence hung lightly on the smoke scented air. Jonathan reached out, gently, and stroked the side of Geoffrey's neck with the back of a crooked finger.

“Come with me, then.”

****

After that, Geoffrey was loose.

He felt young and daft again, riding high. Racing along that foggy edge of reason and rebellion, when anger and arousal made so many things seem like a good idea.

Carl had knocked him down, more than a few times, the morning after he'd gotten into stupid fights, or found someone nice to make him feel normal for a bit. It was the kind of carrying on that could get a young Hunter killed. Carl never did spare the rod when he thought their survival was at risk.

Now, Geoffrey had stepped willingly onto the slippery slope between 'might regret this' and 'do it anyway'. His grip was long gone. His feet were sliding. Reid was there with him. He couldn't catch himself, only roll with it.

It was only downhill from here.

“We'll repeat it every night.” Jonathan told him as they leapt. “Until you don't lose yourself even in the worst circumstances. But I'll be there, in case it occurs to you to hypnotise her next time. There are too many ways around the restraints if you're thinking.”

“It's always going to be like this, isn't it ?” The Hunter was not yet ready to forgive Reid's methods. “Always. Killing. Feeding. Night after night.”

“I found that as I fed,” Jonathan explained, “My capacity for it grew. I could go further on less. The same may be true for you.”

The night seemed to be slipping past them; a tapestry of sound and smells too fast to take in all at once. McCullum had never revelled in his nature like this before, dashing, leaping, riding the shadows in defiance of gravity. It was exhilarating. Even if, by God, this city stank. As they leapt, passing huge swathes in the borough in moments, sooty grime still collected on his palms, against his knees, around the cuffs of his trousers.

They were near Berdmonsey now, away from the part of Southwark that Priwen had been staking out. Reid dropped down to the streets, composing himself in an instant. Shadow Beast to London Gentleman, in one easy motion. McCullum joined him.

Without losing a beat, Reid continued the conversation. “Tom Watts said that the smaller gangs have been squabbling since the Wet Boot Boys collapsed. It keeps them on the streets most of the night.”

“Hoping to appeal to my sense of justice, leech ?” McCullum heard himself say, knowing that it sounded like flirting and yet unable to stop it.

“Doesn't it ?” 

“I suppose that's the difference between us and the other monsters; we get to pretend to have tastes.”

“When we have the time.” Reid admitted.

McCullum tried to find some purchase for his thoughts. “Then I'll be sure to make time."

But then Jonathan took his hand. Fingers looping. Cold palm pressed to his. A shock of contact that was as unexpected as it was strange. McCullum shot Reid a look, and Reid winked.

_We're being followed already._

“For fuck's sake”, McCullum whispered back, "If you're going to play that game, do it properly.”

He pushed Jonathan backwards into the nearest wall. Their lips met, teeth clashed, false breaths drawn sharply and released between each hungry kiss.

The two men in the street came closer. One of them coughed, _meaningfully_, behind McCullum's back and he felt Reid's lips tighten in a smile, just before he let it fall into a concerned scowl.

“Now, personally, I say there in't enough love in the world.” The would-be philosopher began, “But I know there's plenty of them as would differ.”

It was easy after that. They had barely given McCullum a second glance; Reid was too obviously the posh toff slumming with his docker boy. Reid toyed with the two of them, handing over his wallet, luring them into conversation where they revealed more than they intended, and more than enough.

Geoffrey had to stop his own legs obeying when Reid turned to one and murmured, “_Come with me._”

They stepped away towards the shadows. That left him with the would-be philosopher. He knew this man now - 'Mik' Keeley; husband to a woman who didn't speak English; a bully who thought himself better than his choices; a man who preferred knives over guns for the intimacy it offered. He knew him well enough.

He could turn away, even now. He didn't _have _to do this.

His vision shifted, colours fading, seeing nothing but what he needed. Mik was objecting, calling out, but his voice seemed faint, distant. Like being underwater. Like being in the sea; a red and ruinous ocean of desire and damnation. The only true sounds were the pounding of a heartbeat, and his own voice saying, “_None of that, beast. Let's take a walk.” _

Three steps. Out of the street. McCullum took him to the shadows, and gave in.

The blood rolled into him in one glorious torrent. Welling up without violence, helped up and on and in by the thrum and thump of a pounding heart. This wasn't like the others, seized and drained by an animal in frenzy. The man only scrabbled out of primal instinct. The life already knew that it was done. Peace. Pleasure. Satiation rolling through him. McCullum drew deep, and as the life came loose at the roots, a part of him came with it.

_You might have been a fucking queen, but at least you killed me close and personal. Respect, but live with it you bastard. You're no better than me._

He let the body fall, already forgotten, and a part of McCullum fell away too. He didn't pause to mourn. That would have been too hypocritical. He had made his choice. He couldn't take it back. He could never take it back.

He only looked up into Reid's eyes and felt himself part of an old, old story; one with a snake, and an apple, and a brief taste that had opened up the world.

He leapt. But Reid was faster.  
  
McCullum went after him.

****

  
They tore into the bedroom. Fabric flying, clothes torn away, only slowing their violence when they made it down to pale skin. Desperate kisses, light as moths against the flesh or sharp as knives when their lips and teeth clashed together. They were falling, clawing at each other, into the bed. Boots were kicked away to smash whatever they would, forgotten already.

Geoffrey had given himself over at last. Their thoughts were tangling. Already, he could barely track where he ended and Reid began.

His skin was hot to the touch. Both of them were. The fresh blood was pounding in his veins, pitching every sensation into painful clarity. He needed Reid, needed release or he was certain he would die again, die from the need and the heat and the burning blood filling his body.

He found himself on top and bent immediately to Jonathan's chest. Flat teeth found and pinched against a hard nipple, and Jonathan snarled with pleasure, hands running down from the Hunter's broad shoulders, curling his nails into the hard ridge of lumbar muscle as Geoffrey went down

Then Jonathan threw his leg up and over and sent Geoffrey crashing to the floor again with Reid on top. It restored Geoffrey to his place beneath his Maker. And that was right, Geoffrey thought. That was how it should be.

Jonathan's thoughts drove into him, riding their own rich tide. _Jonathan had never tried this before, but he'd had one hell of an introduction._ Geoffrey shivered helplessly as he felt Reid's beard prickle down his body, _feeling Geoffrey's length, hot and throbbing against his belly, his chest, his lips._

***  
  
He laid one, soft kiss on the salty tip, then played his fingers up the shaft, marvelling at it as he licked his lips clean. Geoffrey was thicker than Jonathan had realised. And it was delicious to stroke the soft skin, savouring his Progeny's pain. He enjoyed feeling him tremble as he slid his fingers upwards, feeling the skin grow taught as he ran his hand over the head and watched the blood swell him to an agonising shade of purple. He ran out his tongue and licked, delicately, playing on the underside of that painful ridge. Geoffrey was whispering his desperate want. Asking, not commanding, not demanding, not even really expecting.

So Jonathan did what he _so_ loved to do, and surprised him.

The warm wetness of his own mouth was a shock as the connection burst open. Vulgar words spilled through it; ideas, experiences, desires poured in as Jonathan slid Geoffrey fully into his mouth. The man was so large that Jonathan didn't have a hope of taking him all, but that didn't matter.

He went slowly, knowing how badly Geoffrey wanted him not to. His right hand cupped under Geoffrey's buttock, blunt nails digging in as the thick muscle tensed with tiny, rebellious spasms. He swallowed him and withdrew languorously, keeping his fangs retracted and letting the flat edges of his incisors drag over the skin instead, curling his tongue to dance teasing lines over the slit, closing his lips around the rim in a long, drawn out kiss. Then he brought him close again, deep into his mouth, his throat, as deep as was possible which still wasn't deep enough.

Slowly out, seeking, feeling Geoffrey shiver and hearing him sob with need. Down again, filling his mouth as satisfyingly as the first draw of blood.

Again, his tongue pressing, flicking, growing more confident, delighting in Geoffrey's rich musk rising from in the dark hair at the base. He relented at last and let the pace build like a heartbeat. Reid was revelling in the sensations rolling back into his own body, in hearing Geoffrey's claws scoring the wooden floorboards, in Geoffrey's desperate, pleading submission, his begging for mercy.

However, as soon as he felt Geoffrey resisting a rising wave, Jonathan took one last, languorous draw and knelt up. But he did not pull away. He would not leave Geoffrey again. Not with the aching distance; the painful withdrawal he had forced upon him earlier. Jonathan only leaned over him, fangs bared, laying the tip of his own erection under the warmth of Geoffrey's balls, enjoying the weight cupping against it. Geoffrey looked up at him with eyes that were shockingly blue, and understood his Maker's wishes.

Reid let him up to search the room. The Hunter found what he needed quickly, and returned to where Jonathan now sprawled on the bed, decadent and hungry. The muscular thighs straddled Reid's own narrow legs and Geoffrey leaned in for a kiss that was deep, desperate and just as hungry.

_Show me how. _Jonathan told him, growling softly.

Geoffrey did, taking Jonathan's hand in his own and guiding it. He lubricated them both and showed his Maker how to prepare him, slick fingers probing and sliding against the thick ring of muscle, massaging, teasing, opening. At some point, Geoffrey's hand fell away, but it hardly mattered. They were both there, giving and receiving, feeling the muscles release, feeling the swelling pressure, feeling the hunger rise.

He was ready. Jonathan seized his shoulders and rolled them both over. Geoffrey was so exquisitely vulnerable; back pressed against the bed with no purchase to roll away, that Reid had to hold back long enough to brush his fangs against the thick ankle vein and catch the cocktail of lust and testosterone that burst over his tongue. It lingered in his mouth while he pinned the fragile skin with a finger and pressed the blunt tip of his cock against the slick opening. A moment of resistance, and he hissed with pleasure as the warmth enveloped him, cleaving tight and firmer around him than anything he'd experienced before. The power of feeling Geoffrey's firm, warrior's build under his hands even as he violated his body almost drove him over the edge there and then.

But he held back. Had to hold back. _Please_. The thoughts weren't Geoffrey's, the thoughts weren't Reid's; it was both, savagely entwined. Jonathan rested deep inside, then pressed slowly, slowly deeper and they both gasped to feel Geoffrey spasm and relax, to feel Geoffrey's back muscles rigid under his claws, to feel the thick pleasure of Reid filling him, making shallow thrusts, veering close to the edge of self-control.

And then they were over that edge together with Reid's hands locked hard enough to bruise. Reid drove into him, finding a steady, punishing rhythm. Geoffrey's cock stood up hard between their stomachs as he leaned in. Both of them were lost to the moment, each taking deep, darting bites of the other whenever flesh came close enough; sharing their blood-drunk fury in each kiss as the Maker fucked his Progeny hard and long and deep. There was a sense of ritual about it – of something they should have done many, many nights ago.

Then Reid withdrew, slowly, deliciously, until Geoffrey's asshole puckered against him. Wordlessly, Geoffrey rolled, pressing his face into the sheets as Reid resumed his already bloody grip on his hips. When he took him again, there was no more holding back.

Geoffrey had given himself over at last. They were both monsters; both beyond harm. Agony was just another kind of ecstasy. There was no reason to pretend.

He released his control utterly, and took Geoffrey hard, driving relentlessly deeper, sharing the pleasure, sharing the pain. Claws bared, digging in, forcing Geoffrey to meet his rhythm. One of them, maybe both of them, screamed when release finally welled up, pounding them like waves trying to smash them on the rocks.  
  
Jonathan let go, roaring as he came undone completely. Geoffrey erupted in instant sympathy.

A single, trembling moment passed. 

Then Geoffrey's arms folded. He fell, shuddering, into the mess of his own seed.

They remained like that for half an eternity, it seemed; Jonathan's blunt nails tracing Geoffrey's spine, both trembling, shivering, lost to tiny aftershocks. Jonathan withdrew gently, kissing, holding, making his claim known in more tender ways, soothing the rent skin of Geoffrey's hips with doting kisses as they healed. Piece by piece, thought by thought, they gradually disentangled themselves from each other. Then they entwined their bodies again and sank down gratefully.

Sunrise came. It always did.


	9. Chapter 9

**  
**A sudden sharp smell. Or, something _like _a smell. Like burning. Like fire.

Their eyes opened at the same time. The sun was creeping in through the broken shutters, shattered to pieces in their return from the night's hunt.   
  
No words. Just Jonathan collecting the sheets, Geoffrey collecting the pillows. They stumbled into the corridor and made their nest there, folding easily around each other. Geoffrey rested his head against Jonathan's chest and they closed their eyes together.  
**  
******

Geoffrey was shaken awake again by his Hunter's instincts. Someone was coming into the house, spotting the pile of bedclothes through the bannister, coming up the stairs to investigate.

Only Charlotte. He smiled muzzily and watched her with one sleepy eye as she stopped, blushed and went back downstairs. A hand reached out after her, willing her to come back and share her warmth with him. He distantly realised it was his own, as he grew heavy and slept again.

****

  
Sunset.

Another night beginning.

Clarity.

_Shit._  
  
He almost wished that it felt like a hangover. Geoffrey missed the haze of forgetfulness, fuzzy edges around the memories to make it all unreal. But it wasn't there. The memories were sharp, as preternaturally clear as his vision.

He had dragged his sword into the corridor along with the pillows. He couldn't imagine what twisted need for security had made him do it. But still -

Reid's hand snapped shut, bone-breakingly hard around his wrist, before he had moved more than an inch.

“Not tonight.” He hissed softly, raising the wrist to his mouth and kissing it, tenderly, prickling his beard against the skin as the bones knitted.

Geoffrey only grumbled.

****  
  


“I suppose that answers my question.” Charlotte admitted later, somehow still glowing with embarrassment. It was only the two of them in the kitchen, with Jonathan showering upstairs. “I had wondered about... well...whether you two were...”

“Whether we were....what ?” Geoffrey prompted, in too good a mood to let this very _human_ conversation slip away.

Charlotte sighed and threw up her hands. “And here I thought you were a gentleman ! Very well, _Mr _McCullum. I was wondering whether you two were an item.”

McCullum knew they weren't 'an item'. Something else ? Maybe. Last night had changed something fundamental. He didn't know what yet. But, an item ? No.   
  
Instead of saying that, he tutted softly, “Sorry to break your heart. But if you were hoping to make an honest man of him, you should know it's already a lost cause.”

Charlotte flushed. “You don't think - ?” She caught herself as she saw his smile, and coughed primly as if re-adjusting her decorum. “Geoffrey. Out of the two of you, you can't think I was most interested in the man who was courting my mother ? Jonathan is sweet. But he was my mother's type, not mine.”

Geoffrey was only a little surprised, but not foolish enough to feel complimented at all. The girl had a fetish for vampires and she only had two options to attach her affections to. Maybe she wasn't addled like the poor souls you sometimes found in old-world vampire nests, but she was the same breed.

Time was, he might have put that aside. They were on the same team and she was up for it. Who gave a damn beyond that ? Life could be short as a hunter. You ought to seize any chance to feel alive.

But he wasn't alive any more. Her attractiveness was irrelevant next to his near-intimate knowledge of her blood. When the thought of her sweet, chocolate skin stalked back into his mind, it was always accompanied by the certainty of what lay beneath it. There would never be a way to disentangle his hunger from less monstrous feelings.

A knock at the door. McCullum was instantly alert. He glanced to Charlotte.  
  
“I'll get it.” She said.

He nodded, and moved swiftly, darting soundlessly upstairs to recover his cast-off sword, then back in a silent burst of shadows to take position against the wall, hiding his profile and his shadow from the entranceway. Charlotte nodded and turned the handle.

The door swung open, letting in the cool air and -

\- Edgar-fucking-Swansea.

“Miss Ashbury ?” The doctor said, his voice tinged with hope and excitement.

McCullum's snarl had more to do with instinct than intent. He stepped into full view immediately. The effect upon Swansea was instantaneous. He froze, as if praying to go unnoticed somehow. Charlotte was a smart girl – even not knowing the reasons for it, she moved back from the door and cleared the path between the vampires.

“Swansea.” Geoffrey growled, letting the sword hang in a loose, low guard.

He saw the doctor take in his appearance; bare-chested, barefoot with his trousers torn at the knees, and let him think what he liked. It seemed to hurt Swansea somehow that Geoffrey was already here, already inside. Geoffrey might have relented had he not known, now better than ever, how much blood was on Swansea's hands.

“Geoffrey.” Swansea decided at last. “I didn't expect to find you here.”

Geoffrey could feel the blood singing between them, but practise around Reid made managing those feelings much, much easier.

“Trust me when I say the feeling is mutual. What brings you knocking on our door ?”

Swansea responded to the possessive term like a dagger thrust, almost visibly wincing. “I have a message for Jonathan.”

McCullum waited.

“Is he here ?” Swansea pressed. “He said he was likely to be here, if he wasn't at the hospital. This house belonged to a former lady of our mutual acquaintance but, as I understood it, Jonathan ha-”

“Lord preserve us.” McCullum sighed, and relaxed his guard. “What is it going to take for you to learn to stop _babbling _? Yes, he's here.”

Jonathan's thoughts slid easily into his. _I can hear you both. I'll be down in a moment. _

McCullum snorted, “He says – ”

“I can hear him as well as you can.” Swansea interrupted, summoning his courage despite everything. “May I come in to wait ?”

It was Charlotte's decision in the end, and she had questions enough for this new vampire to keep them both occupied until Reid came down, smelling squeaky clean and utterly distracting. It was sour to recognise a similar desire in Swansea's expression. Then again, he had always been fatuous and infatuated with any vampire.

Well, except for him. Thank God for small fucking mercies.

Swansea stood when Reid entered the room, but Geoffrey noticed that he kept his eyes down even as he held out a letter. “I have a response for you, Jonathan, from the Brotherhood.”

Jonathan took it, tore the wax seal with a quick flick of a claw, and read the short note. Swansea was practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Good.” Jonathan said after a moment. He glanced around for paper, then pulled a business card out his pocket to write on. “Now, I have a small shopping list for you, Edgar. Use my account, but get it done tonight. I want it here when I get back.”

“Oh Jonathan !” Swansea beamed, “If you're meeting with the Brotherhood again, then surely -”

His voice choked off at a sharp gesture from Reid. His body contorted, arms pulled wide and his head thrown painfully back. He grimaced at the pain, but didn't fight it. He looked... resigned. At least as far as McCullum could tell.

“No Edgar,” Reid growled. The monster was thick in his voice, surely fraying his vocal chords. “You won't be coming.”

Reid finished the shopping list in the overly enthusiastic scrawl of any doctor, and tucked the card into Swansea's breast pocket. The man collapsed almost immediately after, folding in on himself.

“Yes, Jonathan.” He said, his voice barely a whisper.

“_Go_.”   
  
Reid commanded, and Swansea did as he was told, only managing a mumbled, “Pleasure to meet you Miss Ashbury” as he went.

Then Jonathan turned to Charlotte and Geoffrey. In gentler, more human tones, he said, “I need to go. I've been waiting for this but I'm afraid it means we'll have to delay tonight's practise. Tomorrow, Miss Ashbury ?”

Charlotte swallowed and nodded. “Alright.”

But Geoffrey wasn't so willing to back down. His own feelings had shifted since last night, but he would stand up to Jonathan regardless of the power play with Swansea. “If you're honestly meeting the goddamn Brotherhood, I'm coming with you.”

“Geoffrey,” Reid said softly, resting a hand on his chest. “It's the Brotherhood, not Priwen. We spoke often before I left. They have ways to harm me, but they prefer to talk. Even if they do decide I'm a threat, they'll give me fair notice. It's their way.”

“That wasn't always the case.” McCullum warned. He knew too well that the Order which Priwen had split away from was fully capable of luring a troublesome leech into a trap. They just made a point of covering their tracks.

“I'm certain it wasn't.” Reid met his eyes, letting him know that he appreciated the concern. “But I reached out to _them _this time_._ We have a reason to be meeting. And I don't think the appearance of the Leader of Priwen will calm matters as much as you hope.”

“And that reason is ?”

Reid's eyes softened, but his tone was firm. “I can't tell you that yet. I will, but it depends on what I learn tonight. Please, Geoffrey, just trust me.”

It was true that Reid wasn't an ordinary leech. The Brotherhood would have a hard time catching him and McCullum would _know_, he was sure of it, if Reid was in danger, or came to harm.

“Fine.” He subsided at last. “When will you be back ?”

Reid smirked, suddenly dangerous again, one fang flashing. “Do _I _have a curfew now, Hunter ?”

“It's so I know if you're overdue, you bloody leech.”

Jonathan stroked his cheek placatingly and said, “No more than a few hours. If that changes, I'll let you know.”

With that, Jonathan pressed his thumb against Geoffrey's lips like a kiss, bade Charlotte well until tomorrow, and left.

Charlotte trailed after Geoffrey when he went to dress fully. She had been silent since Reid had left, but as he was tying his boots, she finally asked.

“Geoffrey – what is going on with Doctor Swansea ? I've never seen – I've never known Jonathan to act that way.”

“He's being punished.” Geoffrey said simply. “If you want to know why, ask him. Then ask me again. But, if you'll take my advice ?” He met her eyes as he drew on his coat. “Don't.”

****

He had the freedom he'd wanted at last.

McCullum moved through the docks like a shadow, feeling far more at home away from the lavish facades of the West End. He had rearmed himself, but left the crossbow behind. It pained him to accept it, but the blessed thing was no longer a viable part of his arsenal. Once, his life might be as long as the distance between him and his target. Now, he was so much deadlier up close. And the crunch of immortal combat made the crossbow too fragile to carry even for old times' sake.

After a while, he dropped down and walked, comforted by the click of his boots on the cobbles.

He understood now why so many leeches and beasts seemed to attack from above; the world was wide open to immortal creatures in a way he'd never known he lacked. If he chose now, he could leap back up to the rooftops. He could hang from the eaves for hours without ever feeling tired. He and his poor mortal hunters had always been at more of a disadvantage than they realised. As children, they weren't raised to fear death from the sky. As Priwen, they had to train themselves to look up.

Now, he kept his senses stretched up and down, as well as all around him, with absolute ease. He was hunting something very particular tonight, but he'd welcome catching sight of anything inhuman he could feed upon.

But the streets were empty of nightmares, save for him. A few young lads thought about giving him trouble – more members of the endless squabbling street gangs. Thankfully, these ones had enough sense to recognise a bigger beast when it passed through their territory. They left him be.

The slinking Thames looped lazily around to block his path. He crossed it easily, riding shadows silently over the water. Running water was another daft myth, wherever it had come from.

Geoffrey was following the clues he had been picking up from Reid for days. 'Tom Watts' had been first; owner of the Turquoise Turtle as it turned out, and happy to chat. Tom had said to head over the bridge. But, by this route, McCullum had a hope of hunting in the dockyard warehouses.

Chance served him another bad hand. A Priwen patrol had had the same idea. They were already burning the corpse of the one skal they'd found. He went around them, staying out of sight.

By the time McCullum reached his destination; a slum of tents surrounded by an iron fence, he had still found nothing to hunt. No leech came near him. No skal or beast. It was a sign of the good work that Priwen, McCullum and.... yes... Reid had done. But that satisfaction wouldn't slake his slowly returning thirst.

He found a concealed place where he could look down on the sprawl; up on the roof where a corrugated overhang would break up his silhouette. Here, he could see easily into the courtyard, and listen with his other senses to those inside the building.

This, he'd been told, was Sean Hampton's shelter. Sean – the so-called 'Sad Saint' – was someone with a good enough reputation to make any man suspicious, let alone a vampire hunter.  
  
The hunter took his position, and waited.

********

The vampire had been up there for almost an hour and it was making Sean very nervous.

It wasn't Doctor Reid. He had thought it might be, at first. The doctor knew that he was always welcome in the shelter so long as he did not become a wolf amongst Sean's flock. Briefly, he had wondered if the Doctor was distressed, if perhaps he needed to be reminded of that.

But no, now Sean was convinced that it wasn't him. Ever since the night he had healed him with his blood, Sean had felt it when the doctor had been near. He had begun to welcome that unearthly sense of him being nearby, and not only for the medicine and healing he left in his wake.

This was a very different Ekon.

Many things might draw a strange Ekon to their doorstep. Not many of them were good. Sean breathed deep, trying to mark if this one carried the scent of blood and death with it, but he was too far away to tell. He could only put his faith in the Lord, and trust.

“For the Lord is my strength and my song.” He recited softly and earnestly as he lit the candle and opened to the door. “I will not be afraid. He has become my salvation. Amen.”

In the cold night, with the dark shadow of the Ekon hanging over his flock, it was very _hard_ to not be afraid. He stopped a short way in front of the building, looking up. The figure did not move. Sean gripped his candle, and trusted.

“Good evening, my friend.” He called as clearly as he could, “May I ask what brings you to our humble shelter ?”

The vampire's eyes reflected the moonlight, regarding him with faint surprise. Then a gasp of shadows split the air and the candle guttered. The Ekon was immediately there, looming over him. Sean inhaled sharply. This was definitely not Doctor Reid. This Ekon oozed the threat of violence into the very air around him. Though at least he did not smell of fresh blood.

“You're a skal.” The stranger said, matter-of-factly. There was no anger in it. The accent was familiar – Dublin, maybe ?

As the candle flame held and recovered, so did Sean.

“I am. This is my shelter and all who seek comfort here are welcome. But if you seek to harm my flock, I would ask that you turn your eye elsewhere.”

The stranger seemed to find this difficult to understand. Sean held himself still, looking back into those unearthly blue eyes as the stranger studied him.

“You're a skal.” He repeated.

“Indeed, I am. Though I have been more fortunate than many so affected.”

A pause. The stranger leaned back and sighed, sounding resigned.

“You're Sean Hampton.”

Though confused, Sean confessed. “I am. Have you been waiting to speak to me ? If so, I apologise for keeping you waiting so long.”

The stranger did not reply, only shook his head as though laughing silently at himself. Sean held his candle close, and trusted.

“If you wish to speak in a place of privacy, you are welcome inside if you swear not to harm my flock.”

There was great sadness in the way the stranger said, “Are they human ?”

“Yes.” 

“Then I swear it, priest. If they're human, they'll come to no harm from me.”

“I am not a priest.” Sean corrected gently. “I only help where I can.”

“That's more than most.” The stranger acknowledged. “Yes, I think I would like to speak with you, Mr Hampton.”

“Then come in and be welcome.” Sean felt the relief in his knees and chest, as he turned to lead the vampire inside. “May I ask your name, friend ?”

“Geoffrey McCullum.”

Fear bore down on Sean, stealing his breath. He knew that name, spoken in reverent tones by a few who had slept off injuries here, those who had more positive experiences with the militia Guard of Priwen. Knowing what the true mission of the Guard was, Sean knew immediately what his presence here might mean.

“You know me as well, then ?” Geoffrey McCullum asked as they went inside. Sean should have known he couldn't hide his reaction from the vampire.

He didn't slow to answer him, but lead on directly into his room. Even if his flock were not in physical danger, he would prefer to spare them the horror of seeing his own demise.   
  
“I have heard of you. Though I last heard that you were feared dead, I am glad to see it is not so.”

McCullum waited until Sean had closed the door to say, “I am dead. And I'd thank you to not tell anyone otherwise.”

“I will respect your wishes,” Sean said as he gestured towards his humble furnishings, inviting McCullum to sit. “Though I must disagree with you. We are both quite alive.”

“And how do you convince yourself of that ?”

The Ekon chose to remain standing.

“I don't find it difficult, Mr McCullum. God made us this way. And He has promised that the dead will not walk the earth until the Day Of Judgement. Those times are not yet upon us.”

“And... and you're sure of that ?” McCullum's face darkened. “With a war tearing apart Europe, a vampire epidemic raging through London, and a flu that kills young and old alike ?”   
  
Sean admitted. “Well, I do not know the Lord's will any better than any man. But I do not believe so. Those who enter his Kingdom know neither hunger or thirst, and we do. And the damned know only hunger and thirst, and we can know satiation. And so, we are like any living creature.”

“A Saintly Skal.” McCullum shook his head, disbelieving. “That's a new one. And I thought I'd seen or heard of all the strange and terrible things of this world.”

Sean set the candle down and steeled himself. “If you suspect me of something, I urge you to ask plainly. As the Lord is my Shepard, I will not lie to you.”

McCullum's jaw dropped, just a little, then he coughed out a laugh that released all the dark and violent air he had been holding. It was like a sudden tear in the shroud that surrounded him, and Sean felt his faith rewarded.

“You think I'm here to kill you, Skal ?”

“I confess I would be grateful to know that you weren't.”

“Oh, I think I can see why he likes you. No, I'm not here to kill you. I didn't know anything about you except your name before tonight. You're a Skal, which would normally make my list. But.... did you know that you're under the protection of a particularly powerful and vicious vampire ?”

It took Sean a moment to absorb that. “I confess... No, I did not. Should I be relieved, or concerned ?”

“Both, if you have your wits about you. Mind if I sit ?”

“Of course not. Be welcome.”


	10. The Saint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Saint, the Sword and the Dragon reveal themselves, as a new relationship sheds light on an old one. It's time to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of sexy boytime in this chapter. I realised that entire subplot made this fic too clunky, so I've extracted it to go up as its own little fic, which I'll post up after this one. But, this chapter is significant to character development of this headcanon, and I love Sean, so it's staying. I figure you lovely readers can skip forward if you didn't dig it :)

**  
**McCullum watched the skal very closely as he took a seat opposite him. Those eyes... Without any of a vampire's power over the mind, there was no mistaking what Sean was. They were hauntingly bright, eerily beautiful, the irises almost shining. But unlike any Skal he had seen or heard of, the mind behind them was sharp. There was nothing rotten or rotting here. Even his wounds looked half-healed. He'd never thought such a thing existed. No wonder Reid hadn't wanted him near Sean before.

Outside, Sean had been trembling from his knees on up. But he held up his candle, his faith and his kindness against all the evil he should reasonably expect from an unfamiliar vampire. A tiny light against the dark. It was heartbreaking.

“Tell me, what do you know about Doctor Jonathan Reid ?”

The response was instantaneous. The Skal was deeply afraid. McCullum felt his rage boil; was this the reason for the secrecy ? Had this delicate creature been Reid's toy before McCullum came along to replace him?

“Is he in some kind of trouble ?” Sean asked.

“Not unless he ought to be ?” McCullum growled.

But Sean exhaled and the tension left his body. “Thank you Mr McCullum. That's a relief. I haven't heard from him for some time. I had begun to fear for him.”

“Why ?”

“Why... why what ?”

“Why fear for him ? He's a vampire.”

“Why not ?” The skal answered with that same heartbreaking, infuriating calm. “He has tended to my flock when he can, and he has a place here.”

“Here ?” McCullum felt himself grow cold, another dark suspicion growing. “You tend your flock for him ?”

“I hear the concern in your voice Mr McCullum, but Doctor Reid would not harm those under my protection. Indeed, he distributed medicine at times. I meant that he has a place here when he finally realises that he needs it.”

“I don't know what he's told you, but he's a monster, Sean.”

The Skal nodded, but said, “All men can become monsters, but they do not cease to be men, and no man is beyond redemption.”

“He kills. Regularly. Nightly, I think.”

Sean's laugh was timid, nervous, conflicted. He looked down and away. “Then all the more reason to remind him that he has a place here.”

“A Saintly Skal, indeed.” McCullum hadn't meant to sneer, but it came out anyway. “How can you possibly reconcile that ? He could slaughter all your little lambs here without a thought.”

Sean's voice was small. It would have been inaudible if not for McCullum's vampire hearing. “He hasn't.”

“But he could.”

“But,” Sean found his voice, “He hasn't. And... So could you, Mr McCullum. And the reason I invited you in is that you haven't, and I don't believe you will. I don't believe he will either.”

With that, Sean rose from the table. The movement was not confrontational. He was perfectly calm; no sign of the trembling ghoul of a moment before. He collected the candle and walked to the far end of the room to open a small shrine... an altar or Marian of some kind, lighting the candles, communing with God.

McCullum doubted that God would be listening, but it was beneath him to try and convince this man of that. Let him find his comfort where he could, and his salvation.

Admittedly, it was a little creepy.

McCullum knocked a cigarette from the pack and lit it. The Saint didn't complain, and when Sean spoke again his voice had regained its strength.

“Doctor Reid is a lost soul. But he doesn't harm my flock. He heals those that he can, though he has no need to do so. Whatever God's plan for him is, he isn't lost to Him yet.”

McCullum, on the other hand, felt utterly lost. It was impossible to reconcile this bright, loving man with his determination to defend Reid. Admittedly, McCullum knew that he loved the monster too, in a way. But _he_ knew that he was damned alongside him.

McCullum finally asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue. “What exactly is your relationship with our mutual friend ?”

True to his word, Sean told him. It filled in a few gaps in McCullum's own knowledge of the incident at Pembroke Hospital and added to Reid's explanation a little. Sean finished, “I would have been quite lost to reason if he hadn't given me his blood. It healed me of the sickness and I felt much better afterwards.”

There it was, God damn him, possibly the _real _reason why Reid wouldn't let him harm this Skal. He was protecting his progeny, or a kind of progeny anyway.

“You don't sound all that happy about it.” Geoffrey observed dryly.

Sean nodded, “I appreciate now that the disease would have caused me to harm my flock. I admit, I had to pray for the strength to forgive him for the methods he chose. But in time, I did. Even when we are acting according to God's will, we are flawed instruments, Mr McCullum.”

McCullum, a flawed instrument who had spent a long bloody career seeking to enact Gods Will, could not disagree.

The monster himself joined them then. He wasn't really there, only appearing as a seething shadow in the middle of the room, swallowing the light from the candles.

“_I'm back, Geoffrey.” _His Maker called, _“Where a– ” _

Unexpectedly, Sean reacted, jumping back, clutching his cross. The light that lanced from the little Skal almost blinded McCullum, and the standing shadow dissipated.

_Oh fuck, _Geoffrey thought, bracing. But the light lanced past him, through him and did not burn. He hadn't known what to expect it to feel like but not... not nothing. Sean was chanting a prayer, fingers locked in a white-knuckle grip around the cross. It didn't burn him either, McCullum realised.

“How do you -” He began, then Reid's anger hit him like a wall, knocking out the breath needed to speak.

_Oh FUCK._

Geoffrey leapt up. Reid didn't know what had happened, but what else was he going to think ?

_Reid. _He tried to find the mental connection. _Calm down. I'm all right. I'm all-fucking- right. _

He didn't know how, but he knew Reid was coming to him, bearing down on their blood connection. He could feel it; a tide of raw and covetous rage, right on the edge of reason. Reid might have control enough to not kill a woman he liked, but would he rein himself in to assess the situation if he thought his Progeny was in danger? McCullum fucking doubted it. If these people died, it would be his fault for coming here.

“I have to leave.” He told Sean. Then stopped. Though the Holy Light had gone, the little Skal was trembling violently, eyes wide, continuing his frantic prayer. McCullum had no doubt at all that he felt it too.  
  
He assessed quickly. In this situation, time spent thinking wasn't time wasted.

There was no way Reid knew that it was Sean who had forced him away. McCullum knew how Reid responded to rebellion from his Progeny, and this bottomless rage wasn't it.

Likely though, that he knew Sean was here. He seemed to 'see' around Geoffrey when he visited, but he hadn't know where he was or he wouldn't have been asking. The pressure in McCullum's chest told him, somehow, that Reid was pulling towards him, not the place he had been.

Reid could sense McCullum's strongest emotions if he listened, so he might feel Sean's. Would he focus in on Sean's terror too ?

It was too big a risk to take.

“_We_ have to leave. Now.”

Sean shook his head and resisted, his voice weak but his conviction unshaken. “No. I have to protect my flock.”

Geoffrey snarled, and saw the Skal instinctively buckle under a vampire's command. “You can protect your flock by getting away from them, right now_.” _

Fighting it, fighting better than any Skal that McCullum had ever seen under a vampire's control, Sean tried one last time. “The Lord will protect me. I must stay to protect them. They need me.”

“It's Reid, Sean.” McCullum roared. “The damned leech thinks we're in danger and he's coming to _us._” He filled his voice with all the rudimentary command he had learned, _“You are coming with me.” _

Sean yelped; a soft, pitiable sound, but didn't fight as McCullum picked him up. God, but the Saint seemed built of little more than sticks and hope. His fragile weight wouldn't slow McCullum down a bit. That was good, because Reid was getting closer.

McCullum ran, every supernatural sense keyed for the next place he could go. He had to get away from these people.  
  
Out of the door. Onto the roof, across it, over the street, in through a broken window. Out of the building and down to the street again. A boat lurked on the Thames and Geoffrey touched down only briefly before leaping again. He listened and looked and sniffed the air as well as he could at this frantic pace, trying to find somewhere, _anywhere _where people weren't.

There. An empty building with its roof blasted open by winter and disuse. The shadows burst as Geoffrey landed, and darted into the middle of the open space.

All the while, he hadn't wasted a thought for Sean. Instead, he had been focused on thinking, as loud as he could; _Reid, I'm alright. You god-damned broody bloody idiot. I'm fine._

He opened his arms and let Sean down slowly enough for the Skal to find his feet, rather than being dumped on the floor.

“He'll be here soon.” He told him now, keeping his voice strong and level with the ease of long practice in life-or-death situations. “Stay close and do whatever he says until I can calm him the fuck down.”

There wasn't time to explain anything more to Sean. A moment later, Reid arrived in exactly the state Geoffrey had feared. His Maker was barely contained in the facade of mortal flesh. Shadows curled away from claws like knives and a hooked snarl straight from hell. God only knew what kind of creature Myrddin really was to have created something like that. God only knew how many people Reid had killed to _become_ something like that.

McCullum had intended to meet him standing, but he was already being forced down. He didn't know if Sean felt it too, but didn't take the chance as he hooked an arm and dragged the Skal down with him. As soon as his Progeny hit the deck, Reid let loose blindly around them. Cerberus couldn't have done better; the sound was hell come to earth, like demons unleashed, like three sets of savage jaws raging and tearing and biting. A few rats exploded in pitiful balloons.

If there had been anyone in there with them... he could only be glad there wasn't. He could only lie still with Sean trembling against him and wait for the storm to pass. He'd never dreamed that this was what Jonathan was holding back when he had talked so casually about control.

_All for the fucking gleam of a cross, you stupid bastard. _

The storm cut off abruptly. The walls shifted; plaster dust crumbling. A hanging portrait clattered to the floor in pieces.

Silence, then a soft, sickening crack of bone. McCullum looked up and caught the last moments as Reid's body reassembled itself, jaw snapping back to human size, shoulders resetting.

He waited a moment longer. He couldn't say what he wanted to say until the threat of violence had fully passed.

Reid blinked and finally looked at the scene. He took in the empty room. His brow furrowed.

“You stupid bastard.” McCullum spoke low as he rose, knowing Reid would hear anyway. His Maker's thoughts, his relief, poured into his head as he began to come towards him.

_Geoffrey. I thought they'd taken you._

Even in his head, the voice was monstrous. It sent shivers prickling along his skin. But McCullum would not bend this time.

“You're awfully clingy for a leech, you know that ? It was just one crucifix. Just _one_. And it was an accident at that.” McCullum didn't raise his voice as he met his Maker's eyes and drew his shoulders back. “How the hell could I ever return to Priwen if _this _is what happens when I get hurt?”

Reid slowed, and stopped still a few paces away, suddenly uncertain, suddenly disorientated.

“I had no reason to expect a problem tonight.” Reid said slowly. “I felt the cross burn me through you, even at the distance. I assumed -”

“And I bet it burned like hell.” Geoffrey wasn't going to give him an inch. The reality of the danger was sinking in as the immediate need for caution passed. “But don't you ever lecture me about controlling myself again, leech. What if you turned up and caught a glancing shine out on patrol? Would you kill the rest of Priwen before even checking if I was actually in trouble?”

Reid was silent.

“You're not like any vampire I've ever faced, and not because you play at being a doctor in your spare time.” He was snarling now, “I can see why the Brotherhood has their word for your kind, Dragon. Maybe Priwen should take it up.”

McCullum felt the old swagger returning; the way he had always performed when his back was against the wall and he needed to convince his enemy that he had the upper hand. Because on the inside, he was only thinking : _Fuck. What does that make me?_

Reid must have seen through it, seen his momentary weakness. He stepped forward again.

“I **want** to argue this with you, Geoffrey. But, you're right.” He was starting to compose himself, though the shadows still stirred around him, still trembled as if they wanted to reach out and kill something. “You are right. I'm learning too. But I'm glad to have made this mistake now, rather than then.”

“It'd be a lot easier to accept that if you weren't a walking bomb, Reid. If we hadn't got our feet under us, you'd have wiped out the Saint's whole bloody shelter.”

Reid froze, still as a statue. The skittering shadows collapsed and lay quiet. He seemed to finally notice the Skal. 

_Sean_. Reid's thought was pure bittersweet pain, tender enough to set the world to dreaming and rough enough to make it scream. Geoffrey felt his anger rising as he realised the depth of Jonathan's feelings. These men had a history. If Sean didn't recognise it as such, Reid did.

“I'm sorry, Sean.” He said.

Sean glanced up at Geoffrey for assent before standing. The little Saint had taken his warning to heart, it seemed.

“You battle with worse demons than most of us, Doctor.” The Skal acknowledged. “That's no surprise to me.”

“I'm glad nothing came of it.” Reid spoke sincerely and it hurt McCullum - in ways he did not want to recognise – to hear the raw humanity in his Maker's voice.

The Skal looked as if he were about to cry. But then, he had looked like that all night. “I thank God for it. But I do wish you had told me you had returned to the city. The shelter is a sanctuary for all lost souls when they need it.” A small, sad smile. “Yours included, especially now that you've fulfilled your mission to save our minds and bodies.”

“I'll try to remember that, Sean.” Reid answered softly, then looked back to McCullum. “Can you take him back to his flock ? I'm ravenous.”

McCullum was tempted to argue, but Reid's confession was an honest one. He wasn't just asking for Sean's benefit. He couldn't trust himself with the people there.

“I'll get him home.” He confirmed.

Reid nodded, and turned, and ran.

They had only been back at the Shelter for a few moments when McCullum felt his Maker kill again. McCullum spared a prayer for that poor bastard, whoever he or she was, dying only for want of self-control.

****

Sean struggled to control his nerves, even after returning his flock and assuring himself that they had come to no harm. Lottie had come running at the noise to find them both already gone and was beside herself when they returned. She had become extremely protective of him now that she was grieving for her sister, but Sean could only thank God that they could help each other in these difficult times.

Sometimes, it felt like everyone was trying to protect him.

He was surprised to find Mr McCullum still waiting in his room when he had at last reassured Lottie enough for her to get some sleep. He slipped the door closed as quietly as he could.

“Thank you Mr McCullum. I am exceedingly grateful for all you've done tonight. I know some of it was difficult for you.”

The vampire didn't waste a moment. In cold tones, he asked, “Those 'methods' you mentioned forgiving Reid for ? What were they ?”

Sean laughed, bitterly, “I'd rather not discuss it, if that's alright. It's not exactly a pleasant recollection.”

It was a lie, of course, and Sean silently reproached himself for that. However, Sean did try to treasure it more for the compassion Reid had shown to him, a stranger, and who he'd believed a murderer mere hours beforehand. The other reasons were his own burden to bear.

“You realise that the 'demon' you banished was him, trying to talk to me ?”

“Yes, I picked that up from your conversation.” Sean admitted, “I'm sorry to have caused such pain to you both. I've never viewed the Lord's love as a weapon. I was honestly as surprised as you were, I assure you.”

“Are you his Progeny ?” McCullum asked bluntly.

“I'm a Skal, Mr McCullum.” Sean explained gently, once again gesturing to urge the Ekon to sit. “I was made such by my friend William, when he was lost to the thirst. If you must know, and I suspect you do, Doctor Reid killed him and rescued me, not realising I was infected.”

“But you saw him tonight – Reid, I mean – and you felt his response as much as I did ?”

“I did. I confess that the ways of your kind are a mystery to me, so I can't offer much explanation for that.

“_What was so unpleasant about the way he healed you ?_” McCullum asked, his voice ringing in Sean's head.

Sean hissed involuntarily. He hated to hear that tone. It reminded him too much what it was like to submit to another authority that was not the Lord. He tried very hard to forgive the use of force. McCullum was conflicted; in need of his patience, not his judgement.

“I objected to it at first. I was in a fever and I believed God wanted me to be this way. I didn't see that God had also placed Doctor Reid in my path. He forced me to recall the worst things that have happened to me, to try to break my faith so that I would let him save me instead of trusting in the Lord. Then he had me kneel before him, and drink.”

“He had you kneel before him ?” McCullum's voice was hard to read.

“Yes. To drink his blood. I've found the strength to forgive him.”

“And that was … unpleasant.” It was a statement, not a question. Sean was beginning to suspect it was in the nature of Ekons to probe, to try to understand the people around them.

“Yes.” He explained. “But thanks to it, I have never harmed any of my flock, or anyone else, unlike the other poor souls caught in the epidemic.”

McCullum raised his eyebrows. He seemed genuinely, morbidly interested. It reminded Sean of Ichabod Throgmorton, when he'd realised what Sean had become.

“_What do you eat, if you don't harm humans ?_” McCullum pressed.

Another command, another answer compelled out of him by his Skal nature. It made him shiver and it felt, just for a moment, as though Reid were still here.

“The same as I feed my flock, though I'm sure to eat after them and I don't prepare the food myself. No one questions it since they can see my skin condition. Sometimes, I ...” Sean swallowed his shame. If God had given him this burden, it was for a reason. “Sometimes I rely on the dead flesh of those who have already passed into God's kingdom, but I don't do it often. Once, I ate a rat. I'd prefer not to do that again.”

“So you're a grave robber ?”

“Not yet. And God willing, I never will be.”

McCullum rose to his feet and made to leave. “Well, thank you for changing my opinions on a few things tonight, Sad Saint of London You've thoroughly upset my views on all the Skals that I've killed.”

“I'm sorry for the inconvenience, if not the effect, Mr McCullum.” Sean said, rising to see him out. “But if it eases your burden, I can tell you that most of the poor souls turned Skal in the epidemic were not like normal Skals. The best many of them could hope for was the mercy you gave them.”

McCullum stopped in the act of opening the door.

“So...” The huge man hesitated, “Except for this epidemic. Most Skals are like you ?”

“Oh, far from it, my friend. Most Skals do not heal from their injuries. I was fortunate that the doctor came upon me early enough to keep my body as it is now. But yes, most Skals are peaceful so long as they are not starving.”

“Just like everyone else.” McCullum said quietly.

“Such is the price of our fathers' sins.”

Sean didn't know why, but the vampire hunter closed the door again. The big man spoke bitterly, almost to himself, in tones heavy with grief and self-loathing. “Our fathers' sins, Skal ? You have no idea.”

As he spoke, the aroma of Ekon blood saturated the air, snapping Sean's jaw shut with a click. Then he realised that McCullum was crying.

***

  
Geoffrey had never seen Reid run away like that. Not even in that godforsaken theatre.

He had never seen Reid regret anything about the monster he had become. Of course, he'd seen him regret his actions when he deemed them inadequate. He regretted _mistakes._ But he faced those regrets down with a monstrous clarity, faced them and absorbed them and accepted them.

But when he turned away from Sean, there had been shame in his Maker's stance. When he turned away, he _ran._

“You can't save them.” Carl had said. “Once they get their first taste of blood, there's no going back. They are damned, my boy. They'll say anything to escape God's wrath. Close your heart to pity and do what must be done.”

But Carl had been wrong. Wrong about so many God damned things.

Geoffrey had looked into his brother's eyes, rimmed red with bloody tears. Ian had begged for his life, begged Geoffrey not to kill him. Geoffrey had been almost a grown man by the time they had finally hunted him down. Ian still looked barely more than a boy, as he always would, forever. And he had begged. And Geoffrey had hardened his heart, and killed him anyway.

And Carl had been wrong about so many goddamn things.

The Sad Saint's hand rested lightly on his shoulder and Geoffrey realised his cheeks were wet with his own monstrous tears.  
  
There was no way to save a monster like Reid. There was no way to save a monster like him.

But he had _felt _the humanity in Reid, clinging to the Sad Saint like an anchor. And now, he understood it. He felt it too.

One night. One single god-dammed night, and he was ready to tear in half anyone who threatened this little Skal and his shelter. If he'd found this place with Priwen, he would have seen it as only a matter of time before the outbreak took hold again here, and burned it to the ground. But now, he'd be the one wreaking bloody vengeance for such an act.

Geoffrey steadied himself, trying to get the poison out of his chest, spitting it out with the words. “You have no idea, Skal. I'm the product of so many paternal sins, it's a wonder I can stand near you without burning.”

“We are all God's children.” The Skal said, or tried to say. He was panting as if struggling to breathe. “Those sins... Those sins... Paid..,” He broke off, and McCullum turned to see those beautiful eyes closed tight in pain.

McCullum straightened up, checking the corners of the room. Reid was nowhere to be seen. Nor, as he shifted his senses, was there sign of any other monster here. The sea of heartbeats, Sean's flock, slept on outside. That was all.

Uneasy, McCullum focused back on Sean. Now that he was looking, the signs were plain as day.

“You said Reid cured you ?” He asked as he unsheathed his sword. “You don't look cured to me.”

Carl had been right all along.

Sean shook his head, desperately denying it.

“Sean.” He said, keeping his voice level. “Believe me when I say I don't want to hurt you, but I won't let you hurt anyone else. Priwen - ”

He wanted so badly to say it again, but his throat closed. He couldn't. It would be blasphemy beyond any other sin he had committed. The best he could do was just end it, in silence if necessary.

The Skal stumbled away, away from him, and away from the door. That was fine. McCullum let his guard relax a little. The Skal wasn't trying to reach the sleepers outside. He was returning to his shrine, trying to make his way back to God. McCullum could give him that time. Let the man make his peace before the end.

He waited and thought on the bitterness of it all. It had all come crashing down, right when he had dared to fucking hope. It made sense now. Of course a ghoul could seem Saintly, run a shelter and put a woman safely to bed when a vampire hunter was lurking nearby. It was a good ruse in a town overrun by The Guard. That same ghoul losing its mind just as he was leaving ? Well, Carl would have called that good fortune, thanked God for it, killed it and moved on.

A thought came, hitting him like a gasp of clean air through a burning building.

They were damned. That was all the reason Carl had ever needed. But Sean prayed for strength and his cross did not burn him.

It was like seeing clearly for the first time.

He saw Sean Hampton, begging for the strength to serve his flock a little longer. He saw the beast lurking behind him, sword drawn, bringing death and calling it salvation.

His grip went slack. The sword clattered to the ground. With numb fingers, he touched his cheeks, touched the red tears and smelled the blood.

He had to know for sure. He wiped his face clean with his scarf and took it off, tossing the sad, bloody little bundle across the room to land at Sean's side. The Saint froze. Then, he looked down and gazed upon it like a forbidden sacrament. He was still asking God's forgiveness as he brought it to his lips.

The Saint subsided, chewing, mumbling, content. After a few minutes, he said, clearly, “Thank you. I feel better.”

“Jesus wept.” Geoffrey felt too heavy to stand. He sat down right there, on the dusty concrete floor, and buried his head is his hands. “I'm sorry.”

The Saint only said, “Paid for by the blood of the lamb, which is without sin.”

“What ?” Geoffery said, confused.

Sean smiled sheepishly. “The sins of the fathers. I made a poor choice of parting words, I'm afraid. The sins of the fathers were paid for with the blood of the lamb; our Saviour. Our souls are not judged by what we have inherited. I believe that includes our immortal fathers, and the hunger that comes with it.”

Geoffrey started to speak, failed, tried again, “You are a strange creature, Mr Hampton.”

When the Skal stood to return his gnawed scarf, Geoffrey declined it. “Sean. What is it like for you, to feed from a lee-” He caught himself and finished, “An Ekon ? Is it painful ?”

The Saint made a small, strangled sound of amusement. “No. It was only unpleasant because of the means the doctor choose to convince me. It took away my hunger and now it is the only craving I suffer. And I thank God for that too, for it it means I can understand your burden a little, even though I can not lighten it.”

“Would you like to feed from me ?”

He saw the suggestion hit the Sad Saint like a blow, and regretted it immediately.

“I'm sorry. I only meant to offer you my protection.” Geoffrey blurted, “Forget that I said anything. Good night, Saint.”

He left the shelter as quickly as he could without waking the sleepers.

****

  
There was no sign of Reid at the manor. Geoffrey didn't intend to let the monster run. He would face this head-on.  
  
But he wasn't at Pembroke either, wasn't responding to Geoffrey's attempts to reach him through his blood. It was enough to make Geoffrey consider finding a damn church and closing his hand around a crucifix, just to see if he could get the bastard's attention again.

Finally, Geoffrey went hunting. Not to hunt... people. Just to find and fight the remaining beasts. He found nothing except the odd Priwen patrol, already a step ahead of him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon flown, an iron chair, a hunger rising.

Reid avoided him for two nights, and Geoffrey grew steadily hungrier and more frustrated with his Maker.

He and Charlotte made good use of the time even without him. They discussed how to avoid letting him hypnotise her, if he was far enough gone to try but still prepossessed enough to do it. They agreed that he would buckle himself into the chair, except the one hand he needed to do it, and she would only need to close the last manacle. After that, she would never walk in front of him until the very end. In turn, he would try not to speak, no matter how badly he wanted to urge her forward. If he ever started to, she was to leave _immediately. _

She started carrying a lighter and a cross in place of her customary stake; tools that might snap him back to sensibility, rather than encourage her to a doomed attempt to kill him first.

Geoffrey improved, learned to alter his subconscious mask more deliberately. He was no doctor though, and neither he nor Charlotte could tend her wounds as well as Reid could have. When the cuts started to overlap, Geoffrey called an end to the bloodletting.

From then on, still without speaking, he would only restrain himself while she approached from behind. If he didn't lose control then, she would touch him, carefully. By the third night, she could wrap her arms around his chest without so much as a twitch from him.

This was daft. Reid was behaving like they'd had some kind of lovers' spat. Geoffrey started to wonder if he'd left the damned city entirely.   
  
He wondered if the Brotherhood had decided to go after him, but decided he would know if Reid had been killed.

“My mother could never stop herself from trying to help someone in pain.” Charlotte told him, once, when she had one arm laid alongside his in the chair. “I think that's why she liked Jonathan when he was... well, back when he was in pain. I suppose all women become their mothers, to some degree, in the end.”   
  
Her fingertips had drawn little circles on the sensitive skin of his wrists as she spoke. Keeping to their rules, Geoffrey had said nothing, only rested his head back and looked away. Even later, when he was out of the chair and Charlotte was on the other side of the table, he didn't answer her unspoken question, didn't respond at all to her flirting with him. She was flirting with death, and chances were good that she knew it.

Regardless of her morbid fascinations, he was coming to understand Charlotte. Not that made it easier. If anything, it made her a greater lure; her presence stimulating a deeper craving.

He saw her a little better now. She may have spent her life wrapped in velvet, at least from his frame of reference, but there was a glint of granite beneath. It would have helped her survive, made her a force to be reckoned with even if she'd grown up on the cobbles like him. Privately, he thought she was wasted on her campaigning, on warring with words, on her prim protests where she tempered herself to meet mockery with stoicism. She should have been brought up with a sword in her hand.

But that was beside the point.

Sean hadn't seen Reid either. Their conversations at the shelter were always brief, always avoiding the taboo subject of vampire blood, but always a balm to Geoffrey. The Saintly Skal promised to let him know if he heard word of any rogue ghouls.

By that third night, Geoffrey knew he'd have to hunt Reid down again. There was no avoiding that Swansea was the obvious place to pick up the trail.

The hospital didn't look _good_, but it looked better than he'd have expected. The Spanish Flu was still snatching young and old from the looks of it, but the tide was slowing, giving them a chance to breathe. No one challenged him as he walked straight through Pembroke's front gates and up the stairs.

At Swansea's closed door, he had to argue the toss with himself for a moment, then he knocked.

“Come in.”

God but Swansea looked _awful_. Framed by meticulously organised piles of paper, with that damn skull perched like a grisly centrepiece, Swansea looked like a walking corpse. It was hard to believe the staff didn't suspect. It was hard to believe Priwen hadn't come back to finish the job.

“Swansea.” McCullum nodded professionally and didn't let the pitiful sight soften him one bit.

“Geoffrey!” The response was immediate, eager as a puppy. “I have a letter for you. He said you would come here. And I should give you this. Please, take it.”

Swansea had snatched up a thin piece of folded paper and was offering it at arm's length. It was vibrating as his arm trembled. He hadn't stood up.

God, what was Reid doing to him ?

McCullum took it. It wasn't sealed and the note within was short. Even so, it took him a moment to decipher Reid's wild physician's scrawl.

_Geoffrey. If you've come here, you've decided to seek me out. I'm sorry I didn't have the time to explain. That was my fault. I've had to leave. I'm investigating something that will help you and I will be back as soon as I can. Thank you for looking after Sean. And please, eat something. _

In a slightly more controlled hand, as if it had occurred to Reid to add it afterwards, the letter finished;

_Consider that a Doctor's Order. You need your strength._

He crumpled the note in his fist and breathed to calm himself, focused on humanising his features. 'Eat something', indeed. He turned to leave without a word.

“Geoffrey ?” Swansea's voice was pitiful, pleading. “What did he say ?”

McCullum turned with the words 'none of your concern' ready on his lips. But at the sight of Swansea's expression; despair and desperate hope in equal measure, he allowed himself to soften... a little.

“He's looking into something. He'll return soon.”

“Oh, that's good news then. Don't you think ?”

_Just like a puppy_, McCullum thought. _Housebroken._

“I don't know. He didn't explain much. Goodbye for now, Doctor.”

“Goodbye for now, Geoffrey.” Swansea called sadly, as the Hunter closed the door behind him.

****

As he returned to the manor through the still broken window, Geoffrey was angry. Angry at everything.

He was angry at the fact that he had his own set of keys now, even if he refused to use them; a reminder of how easily he had slid into a life not his own. Angry at the empty spaces on the walls, the faded wallpaper hinting at paintings that had hung there until recently; the reminder that he had slipped into the shell left behind by a dead person.

He was angry that he had just thought of the vampire, Elisabeth Ashbury... Elisabeth _Blackwood_, as a _person_. Angry at the growing certainty of what she had been, what she had done, for hundreds of years. Angry at the fear that he would become just like her; already the Progeny of Myrddin's Progeny.

He was angry for his pitiful, doomed hope that he might not.

Of all the monsters he had ripped out of this world for the protection of humanity, he didn't have the fucking courage to take himself out. And if it wasn't that ? If it wasn't because he lacked the courage ? Then it was for some other reason. And he was angry at that as well.

He didn't know where he was going, what he was doing, but had known he couldn't stay out on the street. There were too many people out there. And he was far too fucking dangerous in this mood. He paced around the room until his eyes fell on the bed. He'd been sleeping in a chair since Reid had vanished, and had done nothing to attend to the stripped mattress, still torn and stained with blood and semen. And he was angry about that as well.

Angry that it might happen again. Angry that it might not.

He had to get out of this fucking room. He yanked the door open and then – only then – realised that the shower was going.

_Reid ? _The thought came, unbidden, almost repulsive in the way it twisted his dead heart.

Hating himself for the hope welling up in his chest, he shifted his focus, letting his senses stretch out. Colours muted, and the sound of the shower faded, and he saw -

_Shit._

The life, and it was _a life, _on the other side of the wall was not his Maker. He had seen her and in that twisted, confused moment of resentment and longing for Reid, he had welcomed the sight. The now-familiar thoughts of her chocolate skin washed over him before he could pull back, tangled up in his other feelings.

_Shit. _

He could control himself. The nights of practice proved that. He breathed, He composed his features. He brought himself back down.

Slowly, he stepped back and closed the bedroom door as he heard Charlotte turn the shower off. At a human pace, he crossed the room, ignoring the rumpled bed, the absent sheets, the memories of letting go. He faced the window.

But he couldn't go out there.

Even the distant crimson stars of people on the street was enough to make his teeth hurt. Anger welled up again. He had been fucking stupid to let himself get this hungry. 'Eat something', Reid had said.

_Fucking leech._

He was a fucking mess and he had to calm himself down, now. He tried to breathe, tried to chase away the thoughts that entangled Reid and Carl; the anchors that just kept leaving when he needed them the fucking most.

The bedroom door opened.   
  
Charlotte. With her hair spilling long and loose over her dark shoulders, wrapped only in a soft, white towel. She looked into his blood-red eyes and asked, with real concern, “Geoff-”

He was on her in an instant, cutting off the word and her brief, helpless cry of surprise as he pinned her to the wall. His fangs were against the skin of her neck, his tongue rammed between his teeth to sip at the warm, clean scent of her, hearing the skipping pulse of blood whose secrets he knew, tasting the tang of fear bursting from her sweat glands.

Maybe it was habit that pulled him back to reason. He didn't know. All he knew was becoming aware of his huge hands under her jaw, yanking her head up and back. It was a painful position. _He was hurting her._

He had to stop. A better part of him demanded it. But a larger part sent his tongue flicking out of his mouth, against her skin, pressing down to feel that pulse on the tip of his tongue, tasting it like the cherry on an ice-cream.

He had to stop. He had to stop. He had to -

“Geoffrey, please.” She whispered, startled tears starting to roll down her cheeks, her throat too painfully tight to form her voice. “Not like this.”

_\- Stop. _

He dragged himself back, just enough, barely enough. He tore himself away from her, resisting the force which tried to drag him back as relentlessly as gravity. Not knowing how long he could resist it, he scrambled for some anchor; something to cling to against the pull. His mind scrambled in the dark for a light, and found one.

Charlotte collapsed to the floor amid the shadows Geoffrey left behind.

*****  
  
_I have to. I have to._

The thoughts were leaden. For a moment... for a moment he wasn't sure who he was. He couldn't move his legs. His arm was... yes, his arm was broken.

It hurt. Everything hurt.

With clumsy fingers, he fumbled at his wrist. Blood was smeared all around it. But he had to stop. Something was wrong with it. Something he shouldn't make better. He slid his bloodied fingers into his mouth and tried to think as he sucked them clean.

Charlotte came in, and his shattered thoughts speared back to him in jagged pieces.

“I can't.” He heard himself mumble around his fingers. Obscene. He let them fall away, ashamed. “I can't get...” He couldn't quite remember. “It. I can't get it.”

“It's alright, Geoffrey.” Charlotte soothed; a lie, but a welcome one. Her hair was still loose, but she had wrapped herself in a dressing gown. She held her cross close to her chest, turned away from him. That was good.

“You have to get it.” He was saying.

“I know.”

It began to come back to him. The chair. He was in the chair. He had broken and all but thrown himself downstairs, hauled himself into it and locked himself in – following the established routine enough to lock his ankles and one wrist. He hadn't managed any of the straps, but they were useless anyway. But one hand... one hand was still free. He could still let himself out. He couldn't do that.

“I can't... I can't get the last one. You have to. You have to get it. Be careful.”  
  
“I know. Sit back Geoffery. As much as you can.”

He tried. Pain jabbed into him. God, it looked like he had almost wrenched his own arm off. He had to press through it though. Despite the grind of shattered bones, he had to sit back.

“You're not healing.” Charlotte said, concerned, watching but not coming any closer.

He allowed himself a bitter laugh. “Not enough blood. I'll be fine... fine by tomorrow night. It won't... it _can't_ kill me.”

“I'm going to use the cross now, Geoffrey.” She warned him, as though she were soothing a wild beast. He supposed she was.

“Do it.”

The light lanced out; a force of nature greater – so much greater – than him. Blinding. Slicing through him, cleansing, burning, shrivelling every cell, withering the blood in his veins, draining his strength. This was the antithesis of blood; a song that wanted to drown him out utterly. He screamed.

A heavy clunk of metal, and it was over. Charlotte stepped back.

Geoffrey tested the restraints. They held. He looked up, met her eyes, broke the contact. Too dangerous.  
  
“I'm sorry.” He said at last, hoping that she knew just how much he meant it.  
  
“No, I'm sorry.” She said, with real conviction. “You surprised me. I... I want you to know that I do know the position I'm putting you in sometimes. It was unexpected. I was scared. But I want you to know that if you _had_... it would have been alright.”

Geoffrey stiffened. “You don't have to say that, lass. And you sure as hell don't have to think it.”

“No one said I did. And please, I don't want to discuss that, not again. There's nothing you can say that you haven't already said.”

He subsided with heavy sigh. “Even after … what just happened … you still won't be convinced will you ?”

She knelt down, only a few paces away from the chair. “No.”

“Even if that might be you, with someone you care about someday ?”

A wry, challenging smile played across her lips, “Are you saying you care about me, Mr McCullum ?”

God, he could have spat. But she was sharp, at least.

"Don't read too much into that.” He growled, “A vampire will always care deeply about those he's close to. It makes the blood that much sweeter.”

“You're trying to frighten me, but you're not Jonathan, no matter what you think.”

Geoffrey sagged. He didn't have the fucking energy for this.

“And,” Charlotte said, the hint of concern returning to her voice, “You're starving yourself again, aren't you ?”

She stood up again and with small steps, as if giving herself time to think better of it, began to come closer. He felt instantly back into the routines of their practice, saying nothing, not even looking at her.

Her step became firmer and she reached out to him with confidence. He kept his head turned away.

She brushed her fingers, her _warm _fingers through his hair. He flinched away from the human contact.

“Geoffrey. Do you think you... do you think a vampire can drink... _without _killing ?”

He scoffed, hearing the animal growl trying to take over his voice. “Look at my neck, lass. Those aren't birthmarks. Reid wasn't the first leech to have a go.”

She did. Worse than that, she dropped her hand to move his collar aside, breath hitcheing at the sight of the ugly, overlapping lines and pinched puncture marks. He held his own breath, trying not to catch her scent.

Slowly, resting her hands back in her lap, she said, “Geoffrey, consider me to have a vested self-interest in this. Could you drink from someone _willing _without killing_, _and would it help ?”

“Fantasy.” He growled. “Never heard of it. They're always killed in the end.”

“And you've not been wrong about anything else?” She asked.

It was a brutal stab into a wound she had no business coming near. In his reflexive anger, he broke almost every rule at once. He snapped his head up and looked deep into her chocolate brown eyes, saw her eyes widen and her pupils narrow and -

\- and found nothing to say. She already knew. Goddamn her. Goddamn them _both._ He let his head sink back again. She was bent over him now. Far too close, far too much that he could see, could smell, could feel. He closed his eyes.

“Don't try it.” He said instead. “If it goes wrong, and I kill you when I'm in this chair, you won't be coming back. I won't be able to do anything to 'help' you.”

He heard the dull click-clank as the manacle came open in her hands.

“Geoffrey, I'm going to do this. You're a danger to everyone, including yourself, right now. Please, don't make me cut myself because I _will_. It would be much better if you... if you did it. I have my lighter if you get carried away, and my cross if that isn't enough.” 

“Don't do this.” He tried again.  
  
She moved her hand to the side of his head, stroking his stubble against the grain. When he still held back, she moved her fingers up, above his ears and behind, leaving the inside of her arm close to his mouth.

“I already have.” She said, like a little prayer.


	12. Simple Pleasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simple pleasures were never so complicated. Sin was never so easy.

Geoffrey tried to slow down, tried to remember how to make this pleasant, but he couldn't. Instead, his hand snapped up to brace her arm and he struck like a starved animal, fangs sinking deep.

Charlotte gasped at the pain as the red blood blossomed up under his lips. It rose, as sweet as she was. And he was lost. He thought he had known how good she would taste. But this was better, so much better. Because he _knew _her.

Her blood was throbbing, swirling, complex flavours, sharp with her fear of death and the tang of her thrill in it. She simmered with something rich; wine, he thought, peppering her blood with bursting beads of alcohol amid the tangled spices of her arousal. It soothed his throat and pounded down into his chest, driving his dead heart into a sympathetic beat. She was whimpering – a pitiful sound. He was hurting her, hurting her and he couldn't stop.  
  
No. He wasn't a fucking animal.

He couldn't do it slowly. Couldn't kiss the wound shut like Reid had. He didn't have that restraint. But he could stop. He had to stop.

In one, compulsive spasm, he pulled his head back, trying to slide his fangs out smoothly but not knowing if he did. It didn't matter. He just had to stop.

She fell away from him, and he couldn't track her after that. He could only sit there, with his head thrown back, his throat open, swallowing raggedly, trying not to lose a single drop. His arm signalled its healing with a sharp ecstatic pain and the crack and pop of bone. Only when he had sucked the last of it from his teeth did his vision clear.

_Charlotte_.

She sprawled on the other side of the room, pale gown flaring out around her smooth legs, long hair falling over her face. She was breathing hard and staunching the wound just as Reid had taught her.

She was alive.

He looked down, she looked up, and slow, breathless laughter began to sob between them.

He felt better. Much better. He gave it another minute, but his body was warming already. He reached over and unclasped the other manacle, then unbound his legs.

“You're a damned idiot, Charlotte Ashbury.” He said, standing. “But I'm glad you are.”

He knelt beside her and she looked up, hair still tousled over her face.

“How is it ?” He asked, earnest in his concern.

“Not bad, actually.” She answered, her voice pitched high with adrenaline. He might not be a doctor, but he had plenty of experience with people who'd been sucked on by a leech in combat.

“Let me take a look ?”

She glanced at him uncertainly, but allowed it. It didn't start to bleed again when he removed the pressure. Underneath, the two puncture marks were an angry pink, but pinched tight – like a snake bite, or large needles. All things considered, they had both done well.

“They'll be fine.” He told her. “They'll scar, but not like mine. You did well to not struggle..”

Still holding her arm in one hand, an impulse seized him. He brushed the hair out of her eyes. When she smiled up at him, bashful as a girl, he kissed her. It was only meant to be a small peck; affectionate, not necessarily intimate. But she responded, chasing him with her lips when he tried to pull away, catching his mouth with her own, wrapping her delicate arms around his shoulders.

It felt good, _so good_, to entangle his tongue with someone warm, to feel her pulse throb in every move he made against her. Her scent curled around him, whispering of expensive soap and aromatic oils, red wine and London smog. It was the smell of the Manor, he realised, the scented oils that had been a backdrop to all his most depraved moments with Reid.

When she pulled away to breathe, flushed and panting, he knew that she wanted him. More than that, he was finally ready to respond in kind.

He felt warm, contented, fuzzy; his thoughts had softened at the edges, no longer spiked with the jagged hunger. She could be in no danger now, surely. He swept his arms under her and locked her again in that pulsing, vital kiss. All he wanted was to get her away from that cold and heartless chair, and amid soft and tender things.

Most of them had been destroyed, except... She tensed and sucked a breath against him as he cleared the stairs in a single step, laying her down in the tangle of bed sheets and pillows.

“Wow.” She breathed. Her whole body was trembling with the shock of the jump, or with the realisation that he was finally giving in; he wasn't sure which. He savoured it regardless.

Leaning back, he disrobed leisurely, letting the swathes of fabric fall slowly away from his muscular body. It gave him such pleasure to see her eyes linger, even on the worst of his scars. She saw him as a warrior and each savage line only fuelled her imagination.

It gave him a chance too, thrilling under her gaze, to moderate himself. He did not tear the fabric. He needed to restrain himself, right from the beginning. It would be far too easy to break her. She wasn't Reid and he couldn't forget his strength.

Naked to the waist, he kissed her again, pressing his cool flesh against the soft fabric and tantalizing swathes of warm skin. Running a hand up her leg to the wide, glorious curve of her hip, he discovered that she was entirely naked beneath.

She nipped at his lip, just gently, but enough to remind him what she found so very attractive in him. So he indulged her. The claws he had used to tear flesh from bone were now turned aside, letting the smooth side trace up along her belly. Then, with a quick motion, he slashed through the tie that held her robe closed.

Hungrily, he pressed his body against hers, feeling her smooth skin warm against his as the fabric fell. The heavy swell of her breasts rose against his chest and he realised that they were exactly as he'd imagined. He left her lips and kissed them instead, dotingly, lovingly, letting his tongue caress the skin above the great veins that fed them. Warm fingers were travelling across his shoulders, stroking his scars, teasing around his ears. He took her nipple into his mouth and entangled it with his tongue, dragging it against his teeth but not daring to bite. She squirmed.

His need was growing, but he could hold himself back a little longer. He doubted she'd had many partners as worldly as he was. Not many men knew the secrets that women's bodies kept hidden, and he intended to show her that there was much more to him than blood... and violence... and scars.

She gave a little gasp of surprise when he nuzzled the dark thatch above her cleft and drank in the smell. He drifted his fingertips along the silky edges, only barely touching as he stroked her skin just as she tended to on the inside of his arm. A feather touch. Light. But enough to tell her body that he was there, enough to give notice of his intentions.

Her body responded, blood swelling her lips to a darker shade. It felt good, very good, knowing that it was the same blood stiffening his cock even now. As his own hunger rose, he bent to her, letting his tongue tease against her. Everything was vivid in his vampire senses. He needed no gentle exploration, no questing touch, to find that tiny nub and chase it with his tongue.

Oh yes, he'd had his share of teachers. He slid his fingers into his mouth again then showed her just how tender his rough hands could be. One finger ran up to slide between her lips, revealing the shock of pink beneath her caramel skin. As she curved around him, inside and out, he teased her onward with long, penetrating strokes, imploring her blood to rise in time with the caresses of his tongue. With mouth and hands together, he drew her out, feeling her tense beneath him, around him, above him, as she crested into that first, tentative climax.

She had been quiet until then, but now she whimpered just as she had when he had bitten her – a desperate sound of surprise. He couldn't stand it any longer. He shrugged out of his trousers and let her see just how much he'd enjoyed it too. Her eyes widened enough to please any man. But she was almost coy as he laid her down again, wrapping those impossibly soft legs around him and raising her hips to meet him.

He didn't press her, didn't need to after all her little shuddering moans and wounded sounds she'd made. Instead, he only slid his arm under her shoulders and pulled her gently down onto him. He met her eyes as he did, letting his face stay alive with every trick of imitating humanity that she'd taught him.  
  
After so long without human contact, her warmth against the tip was almost overwhelming at first. But as he slid deeper, the spike of her pulse pumping against his cock threatened to break him entirely. He breathed, holding back, letting her adjust to his size. He thrust gently at first, pacing himself as much as her, then deeper, luxuriating in her heat. She rose against him, sweat beading on her skin as they rocked together, aching in harmony. Then she was arching, closing her eyes, letting go. He planted his palms on the floor and took her, ravenously.

It was so hard to hold back as the room faded to an irrelevant, rosy glow; heavy with the live smells of sweat and sex. He slid his arms beneath her again, one under her shoulder, one under her smooth, plump buttocks and hauled her up into his lap, never letting himself leave her body as he thrust upwards, his fingers tangling in her long, dark hair. She was all things good and vital, her warm wetness embracing his cock in trembling waves.

He tightened his hold and let her head tilt back, his fingers still in her hair, lost to a rhythm he matched to her heartbeat as he kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her. Her skin was so soft under his lips, under his teeth. She murmured something and he murmured back wordlessly into the sweet, dark flesh. The skin did indeed pinch before it punctured and the blood pouring down his throat was just as sweet as he remembered.  
  
He drank, taking what she was giving to him, all that she wanted so badly for him to take.

There was a strange, grating sound, like someone trying to spark a lighter. Once, then twice. Then she began to relax, going almost limp in his arms. 

_Let her go, Hunter._

No, no, he was so close. He needed this. So badly that it hurt. She wanted him just as badly. He could taste that.

_You'll thank me later_.

A hand took him back the back of his head, strong fingers pressing into the point where his jaw met his skull. The pressure was bone-breaking, but the pain of being pulled away was worse. Still, he couldn't stop his jaw being forced open. Then he was torn away from her entirely.  
  
_STAY._  
  
The cold air of the room was stung across his whole body, but most of all along the wet skin of his cock, still standing hungrily as the whole world seemed to plunge into an ice age.

He was dazed, senseless, confused and angered by his inability to fight his way back to her. He needed find a way to reach that island of comfort again. Only, she was being taken away from him, lifted away and out of his reach.

“Here. This will sober you up.”

A bottle was placed in front of him. He didn't want it. It would be freezing cold and heartless. But his fumbling hands were carrying it to his mouth anyway. Blood washed down his throat. The taste was off; stale and mixed with something awful. But the sour flavour drove a claw through the pink haze, penetrating it at last.

Charlotte was on the floor and Reid was leaning over her. Her dark limbs were hanging loose, limp as a doll, but he could still see the thin trickle of blood beating inside. He hadn't... He hadn't killed her.

_Oh fuck. _He was drunk, he realised. He hadn't felt this fuzzy since... since he'd died. He remembered the smell of wine and bubbles of alcohol popping in her blood and cursed himself for a damned fool.

He didn't need to ask what Reid was doing. He could watch for himself as medical blood was released into her veins in a steady addition to the flow. Reid, goddamn him, was uniquely qualified for this. He'd probably done it a hundred times in the trenches, and now he could actually sense the blood mingling.  
  
But how had he fucking known ?

He wanted to ask, but he didn't dare distract him, didn't say anything until Reid finally withdrew the syringe and stood, studying her.

Geoffrey opened his mouth to speak, and vomited – spraying pale syrup onto the carpet.

“That's the sodium cytrate we use as an anticoagulant.” Reid said with cool, professional detachment. “We can't metabolise it. Let it out.”

Geoffrey spat out the last of it and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How did you – No. No. _How_ _long _have you been here ?”

Apparently satisfied that the immediate danger had passed, Reid resettled Charlotte on the table.

“I arrived back shortly before you bolted for the chair.” He said, working to restore her decency in the gown as best he could. “I could guess what was likely to happen. So I went to get these.” He gestured towards the now empty bottles of stored blood. “Even if she hadn't tried to feed you on her own initiative, I'd have asked her to when I got back, so they wouldn't have been wasted.”

“_You _-” Geoffrey hissed, hating how many _layers _there were to his feelings about that. He settled on outrage, rising to his feet. “You could have stopped me.”

A hint of a smile flickered through the doctor's infuriating calm while he cupped a hand around Charlotte's arm, reading her blood pressure as only a vampire could do. “I could have. I wasn't going to.”

“You've been watching … everything.”

“You made it difficult towards the end, but yes.” Reid still wasn't paying full attention to him. “You needed it.”

Geoffrey wanted to hit him, but he didn't know – just didn't _know_ if Charlotte still needed him standing. The word 'pervert' rose in his throat, but it wasn't strong enough.

“You're a soulless fucking leech, you know that ?” He spat.

Finally, Reid turned to face him. “What do you want me to say, Geoffrey ? You keep falling back on old habits, assuming you're on the trail of some grand machination. I might keep a few things from you, but you are _just _as capable of subterfuge as I am when you believe it's for a good cause. Or have you forgotten about Sean ?”

That was a blow that left a sour taste in Geoffrey's throat as he growled, “How can you be so goddamn monstrous and seem so goddamn human ?”

Reid stepped close, raising a hand to cup his jaw lightly.  
  
“Because I'm an Ekon.” Reid said simply. “And so are you.”

“I'm not like you, Reid. I never will be.”

“Not if you keep starving yourself.” Reid's words were like sweet poison. “When you finally break, you'll be so much worse.”

“I should have fed once, and left her. I won't be that stupid again.”

“No,” Reid said, softly but relentlessly. “It's our biology to postpone the kill. Our blood profile actually changes when we decide on a target. When we're close to them, our haematology shifts to sympathise. It's why they nourish us that much more deeply. There's a biological basis for it, and we can't stop until the hunger is satisfied.”

“You sound like Swansea.” Geoffrey whispered bitterly.

“No, I don't.” Reid smiled, still only inches away. “But we are both men of science. Even Swansea has the sense to steal blood donations to supply his metabolism. You haven't been feeding at all.”

“Fuck him.”  
  
“Never.” Reid growled, and let his hand run down Geoffrey's stomach to cup and stroke his now somnolent cock.

He didn't push away, but he didn't respond to it either. “Why go out of your way to save her, if you only think I'm going to kill her anyway ?”

Reid's hand stayed where it was, but stopped. “Because it should be your choice, Geoffrey. Kill, or kill her. Sooner or later.”

Geoffrey breathed, drawing the air deep into his lungs, and finally put his hands on Jonathan's chest and pushed him back. Reid didn't resist. He didn't speak either, and Geoffrey picked up his scattered clothes and dressed.

“Will you stay here to keep an eye on her ?” He asked when he had gotten his boots on.

Reid nodded. “If you're back in enough time, I have something else for you too.”

“It takes however long it takes, leech.”

Reid only nodded, and watched him leave.

****

It had been hard to watch, at first. When Jonathan had returned to find his Progeny _in flagrante delicto _his feelings had been... mixed to say the least. When he held Geoffrey in his claws and whispered 'you are mine', he meant it. He might yet be discovering what it meant, but it made it no less true. Geoffrey belonged to him. If Geoffrey had taken comfort in another Ekon... well, Jonathan would have reacted very differently. But this wasn't that. Charlotte was very, very human and she belonged to him as well. It was... complicated.

Still, it had been a dark pleasure to see Geoffrey so utterly lost to his own hunger that he hadn't even realised that he was stalking her. He had never stopped himself, only drawn it out. It was a lesson he'd been trying to teach. Geoffrey had found his own education, it seemed.  
  
When Geoffrey had drawn her onto his lap, Reid had seen the instant his Progeny had decided to end the chase. He drank in the simple pleasure of watching his Progeny satisfy his hunger, losing himself in sinful indulgence. Geoffrey was so, so much more of a sexual creature than he was.

It had occurred to him to change his plans; to not intervene; to let his Geoffrey sate himself in every way and join him for the aftermath. He would have given his blood to Charlotte, as promised, and let the chips fall as they might. While his blood burned through her veins, he would share the blood in Geoffrey's and take him roughly while she slept, and died, and woke again.

But Geoffrey would struggle to embrace what he was after such an act. He had apparently started rebelling again in Reid's absence; seeking self-destruction through starvation. If he discovered these depths in himself now, he would recoil and try to destroy himself completely. He had come too far for that. Reid had come too far for that.

So, he had stepped in, and now he needed to keep her alive. One look, and he knew the bed was unusable. Curious that Geoffrey hadn't touched the mess in three days, but Jonathan had money and money was all that was needed for the simple problems.

The wall telephone was an ancient behemoth, surely installed around 1890, but it worked. Calhoun Russel was always awake, always happy to oblige an eccentric customer.

Now, there was a life that Reid was glad to have spared. The temptation remained to sample the avant-garde flavours of the gourmand's life, but the fellow had been such a light in the darkness of the epidemic. His more predatory instincts had played a role too, because Calhoun was a useful presence in Reid's territory. In truth, Reid had decided to postpone that pleasure until he returned. Now, he wasn't sure he'd ever get around to it.

A few hours later, he settled Charlotte into the fresh sheets. There was no sign of adverse reaction to the non-sterile transfusion environment. She would have to survive the disappointment of living for a few more days.

And that was it. Nothing to do but wait.

He could wait. Even with the memories of Elisabeth visiting him from the walls of her former home, he could wait. He owed her no answers, no pithy excuses. She had gone.

When Geoffrey returned, using the front door this time, Reid was ready to enjoy the rewards reaped by his patience. The Hunter filled the lobby with the glorious aromas of satiation and fresh blood. He met Reid's welcoming touch eagerly enough. But he didn't give himself over immediately. He pulled back against the door, turning his face away in a gesture more coquettish than appalled.

So Reid joined him in the game. He let his lips rest on the stubble of his cheek, leaning into him to hold him against the door as he slipped his hand into the Hunter's trousers and teased his sleepy member to full wakefulness. Soon enough, Geoffrey gave over.

The lingering ghosts fled, driven away by dripping claws and the waves of dark, violent pleasure.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope may be a bitter draught....

A long blink.

Geoffrey awoke, his hand already moving, snapping tight around Reid's throat. But his Maker reacted almost as quickly, crippling him with the pain that stabbed up through his core as Reid punctured his right kidney.

Reid rolled them both over, hitching Geoffrey into an untenable position and pressing his bleeding back into the floor. Geoffrey tried to close his grip at least, hoping to feel Reid's larynx pop and rob him of the voice he'd need. But he couldn't hold on as Reid first wrenched back, then surged forwards again, forcing his legs up with the motion and rendering Geoffrey almost helpless. He tried to roll away, but all the power was in Reid's position. As always.  
  
At least the bastard had to swallow, hard, before he could smile and growl, “Not tonight, Hunter.”

Geoffrey relaxed and lay back. “Fuck's sake.”

Reid's cock was pressed into his crack, hard enough for him to know that it was more than morning wood. But Reid pulled away instead, releasing him.

“We don't have time, right now.” The leech said smoothly, “There are some people you may want to meet tonight.” As Geoffrey scowled, Reid explained, “They haven't arrived yet. But we didn't have time to talk about them last night and I think you'll have questions.”

“Alright, leech, I'll play along. For now.”

To Geoffrey's shame, they were part-way through dressing before he remembered Charlotte.

“She's well,” Reid answered his question, with little more than a casual glance downstairs. “Honestly, she's showing indications of anaemia, but I can put together something for that. You have nothing to reproach yourself for.”

“Beg to differ.” Geoffrey could only growl. Reid didn't try to dissuade him.

Of course, Reid didn't have to face the awkward conversation waiting downstairs. His experience with mornings-after could not pave the way. He'd have to navigate this new path himself, especially since he suspected Charlotte would think far less of his loss of control than he did.

He was right. The very first words out of her mouth were, “How are you ?”

“Much better.” He answered, knowing she wouldn't appreciate him tempering her concern. “How are you ?”

“A little light headed.” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his chin, then stepped back, frowning, blushing. “I hope you don't regret it ?”

Geoffrey bit his tongue. He was finally beginning to accept that she wasn't like anyone he would have collided with in his previous life. At the press of her warm body. he considered establishing the same boundary that Reid had. But not today. He had fed well. He was in control. And he could suck it up and be a gentleman.

“I do. I almost killed you. And I won't forgive myself for that.” He summoned up every trick he'd learned to give her a very human, and therefore very dishonest smile, and quashed her rising indignation. “But that's my concern. Everything else was … perfect. I'm glad you're alright.”

Reid phoned for a hackney cab to send Charlotte to Pembroke for the night. If she intended to object, that was waylaid when Reid told her, “Tell Doctor Swansea that they can use my office for your bed if they're at capacity, but please don't touch anything on the desks. Some of my experiments are delicate.”

This promised glimpse, along with the chance to quiz Swansea again, forestalled any protest. She was already waiting in the lobby with her overnight bag when the two vampires went upstairs to talk.

Reid wasted no time, but he started gently enough that Geoffrey knew he wouldn't like what he had to say.

“The last few nights,” Reid began, as they settled into the red chairs once more. “I've been hosted by the Brotherhood.” He paused to purr, “Don't look at me like that, Hunter.”

Geoffrey didn't even want to know how he looked; he felt livid. What made it worse was how great a part of that anger was at Reid for being so god-damned stupid, rather than at his being away for such a stupid reason.

Reid leaned against him, draping his long fingers over Geoffrey's knee. “Honestly, I think my interest in them makes them as uneasy as it does you. We've come to an arrangement. As long as I keep to it, they're happier to feed my thirst for knowledge than anything else. And I think they're willing to be accommodating since they know so little about our line, and I can provide them with so much more insight into Ekon haematology. As long as the relationship is … balanced, it will continue.”

“How can you be so fucking naïve...” Geoffrey growled, refusing to lean into Reid's embrace. “They'll have been watching you, you stupid shit.”

“Of course they were. But they'll have seen nothing of use to them and they won't violate their own laws of hospitality, once they've offered it.”

“For fuck's sake, they might not move now, but they're sure as hell getting the measure of you so they can take you down later. Think about it. They don't want another William Marshall.”

"You think so ?" Reid sat up a little. "It honestly didn't occur to me that they'd have connected us so closely. Marshall's Memoirs said that they agreed to terms of parley, when he needed the Tears of Angels for the cure. He didn't say they were actively hostile.”

“Look, if they don't know, they suspect... and I think if they could have called the Ban against him, they would have.”

Inside, he felt cold again. The legends about Elisabeth Blackwood were sparse for reason; so few goddamn survivors to report back. And now here he was, on the same rung of the family tree.

Reid looked thoughtful long enough to reassure him, a little. “Alright, Hunter. I'll bear it in mind from now on. But, time is short, shall we get back to the subject ?”

With a parting kiss, he leaned back again, all business. “While I was there, I did some reading. They opened up their archives on a few subjects, in return for a chance to copy some I took from William Marshall and my notes on the Skal epidemic.” He ignored Geoffrey's despairing glance this time. “I couldn't leave with the more important ones though, and they were worth finishing, I promise you. So I stayed a while. But I've also been speaking with them. Some members in particular.”  
  
Geoffrey nodded. Reid wasn't off the hook for his vanishing act, no matter what his reasons were, but that could wait.

Reid went on, “Two days ago, I stayed awake after dawn to have a meeting with someone I've only corresponded with until now. As you can imagine, I wasn't as sharp-witted as I would be in the middle of the night.”

Geoffrey scowled. “You think they did that intentionally, so you might let something slip ?”

“No, I don't think so.” Reid said, quickly enough that it was clear he had considered that a possibility. “Call me naïve, Geoffrey, but don't take me for a fool. There were good reasons given for it and I confirmed them to my satisfaction during the conversation. Last night, they got back in touch.

“If you're willing, I would like to meet them, with you, tonight. These people,” He noted the emphasis on the plural. “Aren't free to engage with the rest of the Brotherhood usually. Our meeting is a clandestine one. It's a matter of taking an opportunity that might not present itself again soon.”

“So,” Geoffrey interrupted, considering the scant information alongside his growing understanding of his Maker. “Whoever these people are, you're not going to make me talk to them, but you're going to try to convince me.”

“Yes.” Reid agreed, finally relaxing back into the chair, studying his Progeny carefully. “Now that's covered. Geoffrey, are you aware that the Brotherhood has spies within Priwen ?”

Geoffrey barked a laugh. “That doesn't surprise me. We've had spies in the Brotherhood before, and we were less selective in recruiting during the Skal outbreak. It makes sense that a few would sneak in now.”

“This person has been with Priwen for some time.”  
  
“Go on.” Geoffery encouraged, doubtful.

“Do you know Captain Wilson ?” Reid asked gently, surely knowing already, surely suspecting that anyone with rank would have been vetted by McCullum personally. 

“No.” Geoffery breathed, in disbelief, not denial.

Reid nodded. “Yes.”

“He's been with Priwen for years. We've wiped out whole nests together.”

“Yes. He believes as fervently as you do that out-of-control immortals need to be dealt with.”

“He's a bloody butcher.”

“They exist in the Brotherhood too, Geoffrey.” Reid said with a smirk, “They're not all dry academics and not all their hands are clean. Wilson told me he was tapped to join Priwen after he survived a run in with a Vulkod.” At Geoffrey's stunned expression, Reid spread his hands, “He told me that he intended to interview him, but the Vulkod got hungry. He didn't tell me whether the Vulkod survived, but he did.”

Geoffrey remembered that, but he couldn't reconcile the rest. He tried to think back. Had Jeremiah Wilson ever hesitated in a fight ? Had he ever come up empty handed on what seemed like an easy hunt ? Thinking about it now, he might have done. If he remembered right, Wilson didn't have a perfect record. But if he had let leech or two go deliberately, he'd done it smoothly, so that McCullum had never doubted him.

It _was_ possible. But if so, damn him. If Wilson was a double-agent, he was a damn good one.

“You said 'people'.” Geoffrey said slowly, “Who else ?”

“I don't know all their names. The Brotherhood aren't reckless enough to give me that kind of leverage. Even if I'm particularly well known to them, I'm still an Ekon.” Reid gave a small smile that was not the least bit self-depreciating. “But even after Priwen's recent losses, it's still several peopleand three of them have been able to get the rotas in their favour. Along with Wilson, two others will be patrolling this area tonight.”

Geoffrey's throat went dry, dragging his voice into a hoarse, threatening growl. “You told Wilson about me ?”

“Not a word.” Reid said quickly. “I assumed you wouldn't want the Brotherhood to know about you officially.” 

“Good.” Geoffrey growled. “Don't. If I found out you have, I'll stake you to the roof for sunrise.”

Reid's expression was cool, amused and challenging; an invitation to just _try_ that, but later.

He went on, “I didn't mention you. But I'll be honest with you – I'm almost certain he suspects. I couldn't push him to reveal his suspicions without revealing even more to him, but you've been missing for weeks with no sign of a body. I asked him to meet with me and my Progeny to discuss the future of Priwen now that the Skal epidemic is over. I thought... I **still **think that he agreed a little too readily.”

No wonder Reid had wanted to give him time. Geoffrey felt the impotent, pointless anger rising. The sense of betrayal was abstract. He couldn't fault Reid. He couldn't fault Wilson. But the double dagger-thrust of learning that he'd been lied to by people he'd trusted and the confirmation that Reid had been up to something behind his back... that made him want to break something.

He breathed heavily. “When ?”

“At least half an hour.” Reid responded easily. “Some time after that. Their cover comes first.”

“Alright.” Geoffrey stood. “I need some air, but I won't go far. If I'm not back when they arrive, assume that I don't want them to know.”

“Geoffrey. They can't risk exposing themselves by grouping together like this too often. It might not be possible again.”

“I know that.” McCullum replied through gritted teeth. “But I'm still going out. If there's anything else, tell me now.”

Reid didn't rush. Eventually, he said, “If you meet with them tonight, even briefly, it will be possible for you to contact them again without my involvement.”

Damn him. Of course Reid knew about his suspicions, or at least he suspected them.

“I think you're ready. I couldn't have been sure you were an Ekon when you were with Charlotte, if I hadn't known. You've learned quickly. But on this,” The seductive pull between them became tangible again, for a moment. “I won't force you.”

Reid let him go.

  
****

True to his word, Geoffrey didn't go far. He just needed space to pace and fume and work off some of the frustration without Reid's eyes on him.

When the Priwen group arrived in the district, he watched from a distance as they undertook a standard patrol of the nearby park. Strange, he thought, realising how blind they were – seeing how they looked into corners that were as clear as day to him now. But it was well executed. Enough to make him proud, in other circumstances.

They didn't head immediately for the manor. Whatever their other business tonight, they were still Priwen and apparently that still meant something. There was no doubt at all that it was Wilson leading. As for the other two, he could only guess.

He inspected his feelings while they did their work. It had never been Geoffrey's habit to dwell so heavily on his emotions, but becoming an Ekon had suddenly made them relevant. Tonight, if he was going to speak to them, he had to be sure of himself.

****  
  
Jonathan made the house ready in little ways. It was too easy to forget about the bloodstains he and Geoffrey left behind, so he breathed deep and checked pointedly. He found this image of himself darkly amusing; the diligent domestic vampire, cleaning up for company. A small constellation of Geoffrey's blood had to be wiped off of the front door, but everything else could be covered. He unbolted the iron chair and hefted it upstairs, then rolled the carpet back over the bare floorboards. His strength made it easy to pull it tight to the walls. A vampire might yet spot the blood underneath, but a human wouldn't.  
  
He got the fire going to warm the room.  
  
Now that he had revealed his whereabouts for the last few days, there was no harm in bringing out the books. He rested comfortably in the chair with '_Coloniae deductae ad superos';_ a pretentiously titled piece written by a perfectly modern Yankee. That kept him occupied until he heard the first crunch of boots on the driveway.

He didn't rise until they knocked. Then he draw his mask close and invited them in.

At the very edge of hearing, there was a puff of displaced air as Geoffrey returned through the upstairs window.

****  
  
McCullum moved silently. He still hadn't made up his mind, but he'd come close enough to want to see where this went. He settled easily in the room above and watched the crimson stars of three humans coming in through the front door, and listened.

It was an intricate dance. Double-agents or not, these three were Priwen through and through. They might be walking willingly into a vampire's lair, but they covered each other smoothly as they went. Wilson – and it _was _Jeremiah Wilson – lead the charge, thanking Doctor Reid for inviting them to his home.

For his part, Reid was making all the signs of peace. He offered them coffee or tea, which they declined.  
  
_Good on them_, Geoffrey thought. It was a bloody cold night and they could surely do with it, but they'd be foolish to trust Jonathan that much.

With a sense of ritual, Jonathan invited them to make themselves comfortable in the drawing room, and rearrange things to their liking while he put some books away. It gave the Guard – the **Brotherhood**, he corrected – a moment to inspect the room and establish their positions. Smart. And another sign of peaceful intent.

“At least he lit the fire. I'm freezing my arse off.” The woman commented over the sounds of chairs being moved, and Geoffrey _knew_ that voice. Last name; Smith, and her first name... Sarah ? No, Leah. 

Damn her to hell. He hadn't known her well, but she'd been one of those he had tumbled into bed with once. The sex had been good, especially after a close call that night. But damn her, he'd been in bed with one of the Brotherhood's plants, sleeping with the enemy and never known it. Some Hunter he had been.

“Yeah. He's making a good go at it.” Wilson answered warmly. “Always makes the effort around company, and keeps company often. S'a good sign.”

The words were obviously for Jonathan's ears too. He was smiling as he dropped a bag inside inside the bedroom door, then turned to meet his Progeny's eyes. He asked his question with the silent arch of an eyebrow. Goffrey shook his head. Reid nodded acceptance and went back downstairs. 

Geoffrey had made his decision. It would be on his terms.

****

Jonathan opened with pleasantries. He was aware that they didn't have all night but it was important that he show his intention to pretend at being human, even if everyone here knew better.

Everyone here knew that there would be a thought, tickling in the back of his mind, in the back of his throat, that said, _'Why not kill them all ?'_ They knew because it was always there. He had heard Geoffrey's mental run-down on Ms Smith and it would be delicious to devour her in front of him, to leave Wilson to his Progeny and perhaps learn if it was possible to 'share' the last one.

But, he wouldn't. He had given his word and now they were his guests.  
  
Instead, he addressed Smith directly. “I hope you won't feel this is too forward of me, but you have a fractured metacarpal in your left hand that isn't properly aligned. I am still a doctor, and I'd be happy to adjust it if you'll let me.”

“How can you see if a _bone_ is in the wrong place, Doctor Reid ?” She truly was Brotherhood at heart; her tone more interested than doubtful, her dark eyes curious.

“Bruises are the result of blood leaking from capillaries under strain. The conformation of that is as clear to me as any other blood.” He smiled, tight-lipped but genuine. “And being a Doctor allows me to understand what I'm seeing.”

She looked to Wilson for permission, and he in turn said to Reid. “We'd appreciate it, so long as you don't mind me keeping this trained on you ?” He indicated his shotgun. “No offence meant, but it pays to be cautious.”

“By all means, Mr Wilson.” Jonathan said with a smile, “I trust you not to get carried away.”  
  
Wilson rewarded his jibe with a chuckle. One properly realigned metacarpal and a small splint of tape later, and they moved on easily to the meat of the discussion. The other man – Davies – pulled out a book and scribbled as they spoke, taking notes.

“I'm glad to say that I haven't run into as many Priwen Patrols lately.” Jonathan said, “I get the impression that you're starting to disband ?”

“Not quite.” Wilson corrected. He had taken the large chair, with the other two flanking him. Reid sat opposite him, with one more conspicuously empty chair beside him. “But it might not be long now. Mostly, it's people who joined up during the epidemic getting bored. And that is a good thing, of course. Some of them'll stay for the long term, others were along when we needed the manpower.”

“That is good to hear. Does Priwen intend to maintain a permanent outpost here ?”

“Well, that I won't tell you. You shouldn't expect us to clear out entirely though. This Skal epidemic needs someone to keep eyes out in case it comes back. And even if the Brotherhood are better at supervising generally, none of us spotted this in time. So better that we're all on guard together for a while. I'll offer you my advice, if you'd accept it ?”

“Please.” Reid said amicably.

Wilson nodded, smiling through his silver moustache. “Find somewhere outside of London to ride it out. It's better for everyone that we get this area cleaned up thoroughly, and I'd rather our friends in Priwen didn't find you.”

“For their sake, as much as mine, I take it ?”

“As you say, Doctor. I don't blame you for defending yourself, but I'd rather it stopped coming to that.”

“I'll consider your advice, Mr Wilson. Thank you. I take it you don't expect Priwen to chase me if I leave? I understand that during the last Great Hunt, most Ekon left England entirely.”

“Very true. But with the mess the war's left in Europe, it's a breeding ground for the less – well - civilised kinds of immortal. If I had to guess, I'd say we'll focus over there once we've structured for it. A few Ekons living quietly outside London won't be noticed. If that changes, the Brotherhood can let you know.”

“I'm very glad to hear it.”

A pregnant pause.

Reid said, “I appreciate you answering my questions, Mr Wilson. Please, ask your own. I know it's important to the Brotherhood and we have time.”

“Thank you, Doctor Reid.”

Before Wilson could decide how to ask, Smith had leapt in with questions about Ekon haematology. He answered her fairly freely. But all the while, as Jonathan spoke, Wilson kept glancing towards the corridor, towards the front door. He had positioned himself for an easy view of both and his eyes kept flicking that way.

After Jonathan finished what he was willing to share about sympathetic blood profiles, he interrupted her before she could ask another.

“Forgive me, but I think you have a question, Mr Wilson ? Please ask it. If I don't want to answer it, I'll tell you so.”

Wilson sighed. A heavy sound; the sound of a man who hadn't built up his hopes, but who was ready to be disappointed. “You mentioned that you and your Progeny would be here tonight. Will she be joining us ?"

Jonathan spotted the neat trap. 'She' was a pronoun that encouraged correction. No surprise that Wilson made a good spy.

“I don't know. If they choose to, then yes. They haven't met with the Brotherhood before, so I've allowed it to be their decision.”

The soft creak of floorboards as Geoffrey shifted his weight could only have been audible to Jonathan.

“You've not been an Ekon for long, as I understand it.” Wilson asked, “Have they been with you for much of that time ?”

“No.” Jonathan answered easily. “Not long at all. But I'd prefer not to answer questions on such personal matters.”

“Of course.” Wilson conceded. His eyes were still sharp, still suspicious, still _wondering _but he had been part of the Brotherhood for many years and they had their protocols. Vampires could be territorial beasts – if you might have misstepped, you ought to make a show of deference. “It was very kind of you to oblige me that far though. I think it's your turn to ask a question, Doctor Reid ?”

Jonathan made a show of seeming suitably appeased and said, “I understand that Geoffrey McCullum hasn't been seen with you for some time. Is there a new head of Priwen ?”

In that moment, he understood exactly how the Brotherhood could survive. The sudden burst of heat, the syncopated skip of Smith and Wilson's heartbeats, the tang of pheromones released into the air – all of it told him that those two had been secretly hoping to hear that name tonight. The fact that they didn't glance at each other, even instinctively, told him that neither had mentioned it to the other. Jonathan could easily imagine more cruel and ancient creatures, bored in their lairs, engaging with the Brotherhood just for the sport of it.

Externally, they were calm. Wilson said, “I won't tell you who, but there's more than one at the moment. McCullum didn't name a successor so the best candidates are managing the duty together. Truth be told, I think they – like the rest of us - are still hoping he could be alive somewhere, but it's unlikely at this point.”

“He's missing then ?” Jonathan prompted, doing his best to sound merely intrigued.

There it was. The scuff of displaced air, first upstairs, then downstairs, and the soft brogue at last breaking the tension as Wilson jerked his head up, and looked past Reid's shoulder.

“Jonathan Emmet Reid. You are a god-damned arsehole.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... but would damnation be any sweeter ?

  
Silence at first.

They stared. It wasn't pleasant. He might as well be on an autopsy table; naked with his guts hanging out and every sod in the room leaning in for a look. He felt uncharacteristically self-conscious under their scrutiny. It was as if they were looking for the flaws in the costume, still not quite believing what their eyes told them.

Geoffrey had to look at one of them. The only alternative was to look at the ground, and he'd sooner walk into the sun than look a coward in this moment. He chose Wilson, who wasn't making a sound. Only his lips moved, silently, framing the words 'Oh, fuck me'.

Reid had lured the other two off guard flawlessly, but not Wilson. The old Guard could have responded to an attack right where he was. He was ready for one now. Geoffrey could see it play out in his eyes; what a perfectly sadistic trap he might have been caught in. Would Reid kill all three of them now, in front of him ? Just to hurt McCullum for all he had done ?

For a second, he shared that fear. But no, he knew Reid better than that. Whatever game he might be playing, it wasn't that.

Davies, the youngest of them, gasped, “You're alive !”  
  
“No.” Wilson said quickly, his hand snapping out to a 'hold ready' signal. Then, in a slower, warning tone, “No, he's not.”

Geoffrey hadn't been able to bring himself to simply arrive in the room. Instead, he'd landed in the corridor and stepped into view. It left plenty of space between him and the three members of Priwen. But, admittedly, it left room for more doubt. Maybe he had been hoping for doubt.

“You're not.” Wilson's brow furrowed and he spoke again, in tones of genuine uncertainty, “Are you?”

McCullum knew then that everything he had put Charlotte through had been worth it. Wilson might be a god-damned double-agent, but he'd been around, he'd seen enough. Hell, maybe _because _he was a double-agent, if he could fool Wilson for a moment, then there was a chance for the rest.

Still, he had to come clean. If only to stop them bloody staring.

“No.” The words came out like an apology. He supposed it was. “I'm not.”

Words seemed to fail everyone at once. In the silence, the ticking of a clock was too god-damned loud. Geoffrey had to break it.

“Trust me, if I'd had any say in the matter...” He trailed off.

“But, you didn't.” Reid spoke at last. “After you took Swansea, you tried to interrogate me. When that failed, you tried to kill me. ” It wasn't a reproach, regardless of the low growl underneath the words. The explanation was for the Brotherhood's benefit alone. “I could have killed you, or let you go just to hunt me again another night. But you had taken Edgar, and I didn't know then how deeply he had betrayed us all. It felt like justice to force my blood down your throat and make you one of us.”

The last words were spoken in a dark, satisfied growl that sent signals where they were wholly unwelcome right now.

The rolling confession seemed to demand another moment of silence. Then Wilson stood up, slowly, and purposefully. The other two stood as he did, but Wilson put his left hand out, palm down, and they remained where they were. Then, he stepped away from the chair, brought the hand around and extended it, palm sideways.

“I'm glad,” He said to Geoffrey, “That you're not as dead as you could be.”

It took far too long for Geoffrey to realise that he was offering his hand to him. Overcome by an emotion sudden and brutal and indecipherable, Geoffrey stepped forward and took it. They shook just once, then both let go. But it was enough. The real gesture had been Wilson inviting him to come as close as he had.

He took a step back, and said around the lump in throat. “Jerry, you should know. I killed Henry. I didn't mean to, but I did. And a patrol that found me just after,” He gritted his teeth, “Just after I'd been turned. I was so out of my mind, I don't even know who they were.”

Wilson nodded. He didn't insult him by pretending that it was alright. “Did it happen at the hospital ? The night you had the fellas grab Doctor Swansea ?”

“Yes.”  
  
“Then I know who it was, if you want to know.”

Geoffrey nodded, and Wilson gave him the names. Geoffrey swore silently that he'd remember them, for as long as he fucking lived.

“I'm sorry, Jerry. I'm sorry for all of it.” Geoffrey shook his head, then a laugh jerked out of his chest before he could stop it. “Even if it turns out you're a damned spy.”

Wilson only chuckled back. “Seems we're all on double duties.”

McCullum finally looked over at the other two then. Davies looked close to tears. Smith only smiled, unapologetically and said, “Sorry, boss.” Then she rose, and shook his hand as well.

“So, I can assume you won't blow our cover at least.” Wilson said grimly. “But what are your plans now ?”

“Honestly,” Geoffrey shook his head, “I'm not sure. My Maker -” Seeing the pang of sympathy in their eyes, his stomach dropped. He hadn't meant to say it. He corrected himself, “Reid set this meeting up. I'm certain that he intends to let you go. But beyond that – well, this is all his machination, none of mine.”

Reid had remained quiet throughout, letting them have this moment. Now, he stood and the humans were instantly wary. It was easy to forget what a tall bastard Reid was until he was towering over half the room.

“Sit down, Geoffrey. And let's discuss the future of Priwen.”

“I prefer to stand.”

Wilson and Smith moved automatically out of the space between the two vampires. But Reid only smiled and said, “Have it your way Geoffrey. But let's talk at least.”

It was a performance for the audience, surely. Geoffrey's refusal to sit could have been innocent, but it hadn't been. It had been a tiny rebellion, a theft of control from his Maker that Reid would have responded to in any other circumstances. But he only returned to his seat, and crossed his long legs.

Geoffrey, in turn, went in to stand against the wall, close to the fire. It saved him from standing behind Reid like an errant child, but it probably compromised all kinds of Brotherhood protocols. It sure as hell went against Priwen's, but they were far past that.

So he was a little impressed despite himself, when Davies and Smith adjusted their chairs before they sat back down. The new positions would have been too confrontational for a lone vampire but for two it was smart, and seamlessly done.

“As I keep telling you Reid, I don't belong anywhere near Priwen.”

“I'm done trying to convince you otherwise,” His Maker said affably, “But I think **they** can, and I think they want to try.”

“Bastard.” Geoffrey muttered, but looked at them again. Smith and Davies were still staring as if he was naked, but Wilson was nodding, just slightly. “Well, if he's right, go on.”

“Well, probably best I ask first,” Wilson replied easily, “Would you prefer it if we talk to you like an Ekon or like … well... Geoffrey McCullum ?”

“I'd prefer if you talk to me like both.” He said resentfully. “Because I am.”

“You seem to be adjusting well ?” Smith ventured.

“I've been practising. At 'seeming', I mean.”

A scribbling sound caught his attention. His eyes narrowed at Davies, head down and writing frantically.

“If you're writing this conversation down,” McCullum growled, “I will personally shove that notebook down your throat and leave you to shit out the pages.”

Smith smiled, tight-lipped. “Well, you still sound like Geoffrey McCullum. Davies, leave it.”

“Right.” Wilson took command of the conversation before the tentative start could slip away, “Let's start there. You do 'seem' to be adjusting well. I wasn't sure that you _were _for a minute, and you know I'm good at that.”

“It turns out you can get better with practice.” Geoffrey found himself explaining, “There's a lot to being alive that you have to think about ….when you're not.”

When not one of them said 'fascinating', as Swansea would have, he had a little more hope for how this conversation might go.

“You're good at it. Can you keep it up?” Wilson asked.

Geoffrey snorted, “Now that's a damn personal question.”

At least Smith finally laughed, so there was that. Wilson only smirked and said, “I meant, can you stay this convincing for a long time?”

“Most of the night usually. Hours at least.” Then Geoffrey thought _fuck it_, and drove the knife in, “It's harder if I haven't fed recently.”

But this audience didn't so much as blink at that.  
  
Wilson only said, “Then, maybe. Maybe...” His voice trailed off as he thought about it. “There could be a way, even gone this long. You know how the mind works when it gets to hoping against hope. I was thinking what the hell we'd do if we found you Turned. I had an idea. With a little work, it could turn into a plan.”

“And you think it's a good idea, Jerry ?” McCullum asked slowly, giving the question the weight it deserved. “Even knowing leeches as well as you do ?”

Wilson had the sense to stop and think before he spoke. Then his eyebrows raised and he looked McCullum squarely in the eye, “Yes.”

“Well, that's a vote of confidence from an old bastard who ought to know better.” He couldn't help smiling. He didn't want to smile dammit. He shouldn't be giving them false hope.

“McCullum … Geoffrey,” Wilson said, more gently but with no less weight to it, “The real question is – do you want to ? If you want to make it work, I'm sure we can pull it off. But do you ?”

“I don't know, Jerry. I really don't.”

Despite what he had said, he could feel Reid's impatience growing. Smith was giving a little signal to Wilson. Nothing obvious, just an unnecessary adjustment of her jacket that McCullum recognised. She was aware of Reid's impatience too.

Wilson got the hint and asked the next question of Reid as much as McCullum. “Alright then. Different question. What's holding you back ?”

“I don't want to.” McCullum growled, turning his face away despite himself. “Because I'm a damned leech, Jerry. I kill people. And that will always be the case.”

“Think how many lives you'd save, if Priwen had a vampire of your prowess on side.”

Geoffrey snapped his head up. “You can't be fucking serious ?”

“I am.” Wilson nodded. “Not because I'm going daft, Geoffrey. But because I've seen it. You know, as well as I do, that we expect losses on some jobs. It's a part of the life. But, truthfully, I'd like to see fewer young Hunters with their throats torn out.”

“Even if the bodies pile up elsewhere ?”

“That's what it means to fight, Geff. No matter the scale. Every War or Crusade; the bodies always pile up somewhere. My mission in life to keep the pile as small as I can. Yours was too.”

Geoffrey had been prepared to throw pretty Brotherhood pitches back in their faces. But this little speech was pure Priwen and he had a point.

“Alright. Let's say that makes … more sense than I was expecting.” McCullum conceded. “What else have you got ?”

Wilson nodded, hope bringing a little vigour back to a face old beyond its years. “Is it still your mission, Geoffrey ? If it is, there's a good reason for you to come back. Priwen has the connections you'll need. You know we have the intelligence networks to send you where you're most needed; you were a tyrant about that.”

“I want to say yes, Jerry. I want it to _be_ a yes. But I'm a god-damned leech. I'll always be a risk.”

“Then all the better you don't vanish off into the night.” Smith contributed. “If you lose it, we'll know and we can take you out.”

Wilson tensed, but Reid only gave a short, dry chuckle. The momentary threat of violence passed.

“And that's the real problem, of course.” Geoffrey growled. “**He** wants me to. And I don't know why.”

Reid turned slowly in the chair. “I've told you before, Geoffrey. I just know that it's what **you** want.”

“That's not enough. You'll make me into your worst nightmare, if you haven't already, and you're not that suicidal.”

Reid's long legs devoured the distance between them and despite the audience – or maybe because of them – he let the points of claws slide from his thumb and forefinger, and brought his hand up to catch and hold McCullum's chin. The Hunter jerked back. He wouldn't let these people see this side of what he'd become.

But Reid didn't let him go. He held him, the sharp tips drawing a little blood, and growled, “But you **were** suicidal, Geoffrey. You wanted to end yourself. Isn't it enough that I'm protecting my bloodline?”

Geoffrey tried to push him away, but it was like trying to push back a mountain. “Get off me, you fucking leech.”

He wanted to resent it, wanted to feel the thick bubbling of vindictive rage as Reid humiliated him in front of his own damn men. But this close, it was easy to follow Reid's thoughts. Seeing this, they would be all the more determined to rescue him; all the less wary of an elaborate plot between them. God, the subterfuge should make him sick. And sicker still, he was enjoying it.

“If I had told you **not** to go back to Priwen,” Reid said slowly, sexily, “You already would have, as unprepared and dangerous as any newborn. And you'd be back here again just as soon, with more blood on your hands.”

“And what if you were the monster I was sent after, Reid ? Priwen's pitbull come to tear out your throat ?”

Reid smiled his crocodile smile. “You won't be able to, because you'll always wonder if that's what I wanted. I know you, my Progeny. You're mine. I'll always be the one you can't kill.”

It made him shiver. He had to look away. It might a performance for the Hunters, but there was a secret truth to it known only to the two of them. No matter how powerful McCullum became, Reid would always have power over him. It must be intoxicating.

It was also the most believable explanation a damned leech could ever give to Priwen. A leech in control of himself was a leech lying. This was close enough to the edge to be convincing.

“I can't force you to rejoin them.” Reid said slowly, “But it is what I want, **if** it's what you want. I won't let you kill yourself, and I want you to stop trying.”

Even as he said it, the thought tangled between them. Of course, Reid could force him to rejoin. If he wanted to, he could force him to kneel, right here, and suck him off in front of all three Hunters. Geoffrey would fight as much as he could, but he'd also give in. Because a dark little part of him _wanted _to. If he could show these people how truly ruined he was, they'd realise there was no point trying to save him. He'd be damned in their eyes beyond hope of redemption; his fate decided forever. He'd be lost.

He'd be free.

For just a moment, it felt all too possible.

“And you wouldn't be the first.” Smith added into the silence, shattering the tantalising moment into pieces.

Reid turned to look her, as Geoffrey snapped, “What?”

Smith looked startled, and Geoffrey realised that his teeth ached; his fangs had slid down in the heat of the moment with Reid. He made a note to himself to watch that in future.

“I mean,” She continued more carefully, “That it's been done before. Not with you in charge, obviously. And not under Carl Eldrich. But the first Leader of Priwen allowed a few exceptions, known only at the highest level. We only have a few communiques to prove it, of course, because the rest were burned.”

Geoffrey nodded, then turned, and nutted Reid between the eyes.

Or...he tried to. Reid had seen the thought the moment he'd had it, and his free hand snapped up to catch Geoffrey's head. It was too important to maintain his show of strength here and now. But he fixed Geoffrey with a last, indulgent smile before he slammed his head backwards into the wall and released him.

Stunned, he wondered : Had he warned Reid on fucking purpose ?

Then, when his head cleared, he wondered : Had Reid made him do it ?

It didn't matter. It had worked. Seeing their former Leader toyed with by a leech they couldn't touch, the three Hunters looked grim. Smith and Davies kept their eyes down – stupidly, given the danger they might be in. But Wilson watched Reid sit back down; his expression neutral, his eyes hard. Flaunting the power they all knew he had, Reid sucked Geoffrey's blood from the tips of his fingers and settled himself.

“Fucking leech.” Geoffrey whispered, resigned. And he wasn't sure which of them he meant. Reid could be throwing away a lot of good credit with the Brotherhood here. But he didn't seem to care.

It was a long moment before Wilson said, “What do you think, Mr McCullum ?”

“I think,” Geoffrey took the empty chair at last and addressed the Guard. “That I want to hear your idea.”

****

It was a good plan in the broad strokes. A good start of one, at least. They agreed to think on independently, refine it and share their thoughts by leaving letters in dead-drops. They could pare it down, then meet again at the Turquoise Turtle before it went ahead. Apparently there was a room there, used by the Brotherhood occasionally for clandestine meetings. That was news to Geoffrey, and his respect for the Brotherhood grew a little more.

Of course, they had to leave before they were considered late back from patrol.

Reid had been a picture of civility after of his feigned loss of control, but the two younger hunters hadn't been lured off their guard again. When they left, they had kind words for McCullum but only the affable, ritualistic phrases of the Brotherhood for Reid.

“Why ?” Geoffrey whirled on him, snarling, the moment the Guard were far enough away down the road.

But Reid didn't answer. He'd only stepped close, wordlessly and kissed him, sliding his long tongue into his mouth, breaking the wave of Geoffrey's outrage.

When Reid drew away at last, Geoffrey could only whisper, in soft and pained tones. “Are you determined to get every organisation against you ? Are you trying to kill yourself too, beast ?”

“No.” Reid said softly. “But Wilson knows that I was looking into this. If he has half the wits that he seems to, he'll work it out.”

His delicate fingers slipped inside his breast pocket, and pulled out something small and golden and glittering.

It was the amulet.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to decide, time to let go.

  
The confusion that tore through Geoffrey was almost painful to witness.

“Where the fuck -” He asked, breathlessly. Then, he seemed to remember that he had never told Jonathan about it. He tensed to fight, then looked lost again.

“I found it.” Jonathan said, savouring his surprise. “In a chunk of your flesh when I picked you up. I didn't know what it was but it didn't look like your kind of jewellery. You wouldn't carry something like this unless it was important.”

“How does this have anything to with tonight?”

“Oh come on, Geoffrey. You know the answer to that. It's yours if you want it. Once the danger of getting you inside has passed, you can wear it. You won't have to worry about me turning up and slaughtering your men. And when Wilson looks into it, I think he'll realise that.”

“What game is this?” McCullum pulled away from him, suddenly on guard. “You've been planning this out.”

“Not really planning out.” Reid admitted. “I don't think planning has ever been my strength. I just like to be prepared and I improvise well. When I saw how wary they were of you, I knew it wouldn't work unless they saw that you are still who you always were.”

“The fucking puppet of a leech ?”

“Not with this.”

“The toy then ?”

“Geoffrey.” Reid growled. “Your need to be punished is one of the most delightfully human things about you. Elisabeth told me that because we are Ekon, our suffering never ends. Only you could turn suffering into a reason to live.”

“You're wrong.” Geoffrey was lowering his guard, Jonathan knew. He was trying arguments he had already lost, reaching for weapons he knew would fail. “We're monsters. Our humanity is a farce. We showed them a parody tonight. You can't delude yourself into believing that any part of that was real.”

“Oh, my Progeny.” Reid savoured the dangerous growl rumbling in his chest as he slipped the amulet back into his breast pocket, and once again held Geoffrey's chin between clawed fingers. “It was more real than anything. What monster could _**enjoy **_something like this ?”

_On your knees, Geoffrey._

“No.” Geoffrey rebelled instantly, lashing out to grab Reid's chest with one hand even as his legs obeyed.

_Let go. _

Geoffrey fought. He fought with every ounce of his strength, every wit he had.

_Stay there._

Every time he found an opening in a command, he took it. Every time Reid forced him down again, he tried to find another way, flexing, all-but revelling in the force of contact as he brought his strength to bear against his Maker's. Yet even as he fought, Reid could feel Geoffrey returning to that dark and seductive memory as readily as he did.

_Stop._

Earlier, before the Hunters, Jonathan had heard Geoffrey's creeping desire even as he resisted it. A forbidden part of him would have welcomed Reid's monstrous command, forcing him to his knees to accept his damnation before the eyes of the Guard of Priwen. He had craved it; that agony of freedom born in bondage. They looked upon him with pity in their eyes and in their wish to rescue him, he saw a refusal to recognise what he had become.

That refusal was too close a mirror of his own self-loathing. And he had wanted to tear the illusion down.

_No, Geoffrey. _

But of course, Reid could not allow that. When Geoffrey finally accepted what he was, he would take it in both hands, not on his knees. And so, for the delicious sin of wanting it then, he would submit now that they were gone, gaining nothing, losing nothing, except the satisfaction of the sin itself.

So Geoffrey fought. He fought, and lost.

_Stay there._

“No.” Geoffrey whispered, but he wasn't speaking to Jonathan, only himself.

Overwhelmed at last, unable to rise, unable to find another way out; he was trembling as he faced his defeat at the hands of a monster far greater than he was. But he wasn't shaking with self-loathing, though that was in there too. No, he wanted this. He hated himself for it, but he wanted this. To put aside the flawed excuses, the defences of dogma, the tainted cause he had believed in for so long and just give in. And Reid, standing above him, felt it all; the waves of corrupted, twisted desire rolling into his mind through their connection.

Reid unbuttoned his trousers and eased himself out, stroking languidly. He was already stiff, hard as an iron bar with Geoffrey's need for him to be.

And because he wanted him to, so badly, Reid forced him to open his mouth. Then he reached out to the blood he shared with Geoffrey, to that dark and compulsive bond between them and pulled_, _binding the Hunter utterly to him; and told him to get started.

It was the first time they had done this before hunting, rather than after, and when Geoffrey scored his cock vindictively with his fangs on the first deep draft, Reid did not resent it. The pain was delightful and he could heal. He could heal far beyond Geoffrey's capacity to harm him.

At the sweet explosion of blood, Geoffrey had a reason to break at last. As Jonathan thrust into his mouth, he swallowed him deeper, his tongue sliding down the shaft in desperate, sinuous motions, trying to catch the precious rivulets. As he withdrew, he closed his lips tight to clean every drop of blood-rich saliva, lapping hungrily at the tip then opening his mouth again gratefully to take more.

Jonathan fucked his Progeny's throat, revelling in the chocking sounds of pleasure and the twisted torrent of Geoffrey's thoughts as the man lost himself utterly, knowing himself damned, knowing how Wilson and the others would have turned away in disgust, knowing himself already lost. This was what he was under the mask. This was why he could not free himself.

He had never been strong enough.

“Yes, you are.” Jonathan could hear himself growling, involuntarily giving voice to his thoughts. “Because.” He thrust deep and delighted in the spasming of Geoffrey's throat as he gagged.

“You.” He withdrew slowly and let himself fall from his Progeny's lips, giving him one brief moment of recovery. Geoffrey looked up at him with lost and hungry eyes that knew no hatred. “Are.” Jonathan closed one clawed hand around that beautiful head and used the other to rub the tip along his lips.

“Mine.”  
  
He drove Geoffrey down onto him, dragged him back and forced him down again. Over and over, forcing Geoffrey to recognise the pace he set, feeling Geoffrey riding his Maker's pleasure through their connection, revelling together in the sight of the legendary vampire hunter on his knees, utterly lost to the need to swallow his Maker's cock whole.

They came together, Reid driving deep to spill himself into a throat already slick with saliva. Geoffrey swallowed it down, gulping, choking on his own ecstasy as much as Jonathan's seed. The release rolled through them, long, drawn out, delicious beyond words with Geoffrey shivering against and around him.  
  
Stillness came. No thoughts. Only trembling. Locked to each other. A long, long moment. Without breath.

Reid finally stepped back and Geoffrey sagged, falling to rest his weight on his hands, then curling over to rest on his forearms. Jonathan slid down the wall to sit beside him, caressing the back of his neck to rub away the blood from the healed claw-marks, stroking his beautiful back idly as Geoffrey came slowly back up from the depths.

When the Hunter took a slow breath, Jonathan pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and offered it out. Chuckling then, Jonathan leaned over and stole the pack of cigarettes out of Geoffrey's pocket, lighting two of them and waving one under Geoffrey's nose like incense. The Hunter began to sit up at last, scoffing and cursing at his own impotence as he caught it and shoved it between his lips.

Eventually Reid stood up, redressed himself and stretched languidly.

“I'm going to hunt. Come with me.”

“Alright.” Geoffrey groaned, without much hesitation at all. “Give me a minute to clean up.”

Jonathan tried not to watch too obviously while Geoffrey washed his face in the basin. But he was glad to catch the brief moment when the Hunter glanced into the mirror, and smiled at his own reflection.

If he'd made a mistake, if he'd missed his guess, it could all be about to come apart.

He was ready and waiting when Geoffrey at last came to join him. The tiny amulet seemed unbearably heavy in his palm as he offered it out.

It was an ancient thing. It had not been easy to unearth details about it, but he had. There was no mistaking it once he found an illustration detailing the ornate etchings, detailing the myth of its creation and speaking floridly of its ability to protect an Ekon from the will of their Maker. Jonathan wondered how the hell Geoffrey had gotten his hands on it.

“I meant what I said.” He insisted gently, “It's yours, if you want it.”

Geoffrey paused. He didn't look hungry, or desperate, only contemplative. Then he reached out. His calloused fingers caressed Jonathan's palm in passing. Then he slipped the amulet around his neck.

Jonathan waited.

****

It was like coming up from underwater. No, it was like coming out of an opium den, like sucking the city smog into his lungs and it tasting as good as mountain air. The change was tangible.

The vampire was watching him. Patient as a vulture, as a cobra, as Jonathan Emmet Reid. Geoffrey McCullum turned to face him.

“Let's go then.”


	16. The Night of Blood

Since they'd dumped their last hunt so carelessly on the street, Priwen had started patrols in Berdmonsey. However, there was a couple in the West End that Jonathan had been leaving be for an occasion like this.

The silence was so strange. He hadn't realised just how used he had gotten to the constant feedback. It was hard to find himself needing to turn and _look _at the Hunter to read him.

For his part, Geoffrey seemed content to let him struggle. He might even be enjoying it. He might even be plotting, just waiting for the moment when his monstrous Maker would let his guard down a little too much, when he might expose himself to a quick and bloody end.

As they walked, taking the mortal route, Jonathan shared what he knew about these people with his Progeny. Geoffrey said nothing, but scowled as Jonathan explained exactly how they maintained their wealth despite the war. He explained how he had taken a young woman on that night with Sean; a doomed, sickly little thing that would normally have escaped his shadow. But he had been ravenous, and she had been there.

With her last thoughts, she had laid the blame for her death at the feet of Mr and Mrs Arkwright, and demanded that the devil turn his eye on them next. Everything else, Jonathan had learned by his usual methods. Perhaps because Jonathan would have liked this couple himself, in his early nights as an Ekon, he was certain that Geoffrey would like them tonight.

They knocked on their door.

“Good evening Mrs Arkwright.” He said, charmingly. “Is your husband home ?”

“Yes.”

“May we come in ? We need to speak with him.”

Her eyes lingered on Geoffrey. It was strange how his presence changed so much. Jonathan was always a late night visitor, wherever he went, so he often had to charm his way in. But where people never recognised the danger in his smile, they recognised something about the way Geoffrey held himself.

“What time of night is this for a social call ?”

“We're here on business.”

She narrowed her eyes, but said, “One moment, I'll check with him.”

Jonathan leaned in, “_Please madame. It's cold out here. May we wait inside ?”_

“Oh, I suppose so. Come on in.”

Geoffrey remained silent, and silent to Jonathan as they entered. Mr Arkwright was coming down the stairs at the sound of the door. Already dressed for bed, the old man reproached them with all the dignity he could muster.

Reid _felt _it when Geoffrey took control of the room. Not by some Ekon power, but by his own. The Hunter's presence seemed to expand to fill all available space, just as he had in Swansea's office, the theatre and the room above Pembroke.

“You owe a debt, Mr Awkwright.” He said in low, serene tones. “We're here to collect.”

“Who are you?” The old man demanded. “Barging in at this time of night. I know of no debt.”

Jonathan couldn't help but _watch_. When Mrs Arkwright began to step forward, opening her mouth to interject, he caught her with a gentle hand and told her, _“_Relax. _Don't interrupt.”_

Geoffrey was making no effort to disguise the threat he represented. He approached directly, standing so close that Arkwright was forced to take a step back.

“Where are they, Mr Arkwright ? The boys in your care. Are they here ?”

“I don't know what you're talking about. Get out, or I'll have the police here to escort you out.”

“_Tell me_,” Geoffrey said softly, “_Where they are.” _

Mr Arkwright fought it, but he never had a hope of winning. He told them everything. Jonathan listened to the thump and rush of the two hearts, savouring the terrified flutter from Mr Arkright's chest as Geoffrey reached out.

“Thank you for helping with our enquiries.” The Hunter said. “Now._” _Then he stepped forward, grabbed the man by his face and drove him backward; a gesture so uncharacteristically cruel that Jonathan was amazed.

Mrs Arkwright sucked a breath but Jonathan had his hand around her mouth before the scream could form, yanking her head aside, biting deep, deep into her perfumed neck. Oh, he lived for these moments; the wave of blood erupting into his throat, fuelling the engine of his own endless imitation of life.

_You idiot. We have friends, friends you can't imagine. They'll come for you, you blaggard, you bastard. You can't run. You can't run. _

He threw his head back, revelling in the heat and the delicious, fleeting delirium of the feast. When his vision cleared, Geoffrey was still hunched over the struggling husband, fangs freshly buried in his throat.

Regret crept around his thoughts. He had no idea at all what Geoffrey would be thinking. Strange to realise how quickly he had become used to it. If Geoffrey would agree, he ought to compare samples of their blood, to see if they sympathised in proximity to each other as they did with human blood. There would be some scientific basis for it, he was certain.

Feeling the distance too painfully, he closed it to rest one hand on Geoffrey's shoulder when he threw his head back at last, savouring the kill with red eyes wide and unseeing.

_Goddamn leech. _Geoffrey's thoughts broke across the barrier, seething and blood-drunk. _A pretty picture we make. He planned it all._

Reid snatched his hand back, surprised. The amulet had its limits apparently. Once Geoffrey's eyes re-focused, he asked, gently. “Are you alright ?”

The Hunter only coughed a hoarse, “I'm fine. Now, help me loot this place.”

“Looting ?” Reid asked, amused. “We have money.”

“Yes,” Geoffrey growled. “But those kids don't. They'll need it or they'll fall into someone else's hands quick enough.”

_He means for us to save them._ Jonathan realised. He had planned to as well, of course. But for Geoffrey, it meant so much more.

After they had taken the money, the silverware, anything that could be sold without tracing directly back to Arkwrights, they hauled the corpses upstairs, and put a few bullets in them. Then Jonathan saturated the bed beneath them with blood, being careful to avoid any mistakes that might bring either of them back into the world. They broke the door inwards on their way out. It wasn't the most convincing crime-scene, but convincing enough that Scotland Yard would consider it their business, not Priwen's.

Once, the Arkwrights had run workhouses. But even before the war, they had begun to turn a tidy profit from extracting the prettiest and cleanest youngsters for a very different enterprise. These 'commodities' were being kept in a small house on the fringes of the district. Geoffrey descended upon it like the wrath of God; beautiful to behold.

Now that his blood was up, Geoffrey needed no encouragement to deal with the caretakers on the top floor. Jonathan followed softly behind, perfectly willing to hold back and watch, marvelling at the terrible thing he had released into the world.

Of course, the young boys saw none of it, as intended. All they would ever be able to say was that two strangers had woken them in the dark and told them to line up in front of the door. As they filed out, each one was given a small gift; something to sell, but told to do it discreetly. One of the strangers, the tall one, had told them that if they had nowhere else to go, they would find sanctuary and sympathy at Sean Hampton's shelter near the docks.

Geoffrey remained silent throughout. Only later, after they had collected the two caretaker's bodies, and given them over to the Thames, did he at last sink down and light a cigarette. His hands and face were rusty with blood, not his own, and he smelled wonderful.

Jonathan settled down next to him on the end of the pier, watching the water as the dark sediment swallowed Geoffrey's victims whole. The bright cherry of a cigarette drifted in front of his face, and he took it from his Progeny's hand.

“Well played, leech.” The big man said at last. “Well bloody played.”

“What do you mean, Hunter ?” He asked gently.

“I mean, this game goes to you. Game, set, match. You've won.”

The words hadn't been spoken in anger, nor in defeat. Either would have been a warning to Reid, demanding a response, requiring that he reach out and check the direction of Geoffrey's thoughts. Instead, the Hunter presented it like a statement of fact. Still, Jonathan had to smile.

“I suspect you're giving me too much credit again.”

“No.” He drew a deep breath, let it go as a rough sigh. “No, Reid. Even if you didn't set this up, even if you didn't plan it out, you played well. You **_bastard_**. The bodies always pile up somewhere. There are more than enough monsters seeing to it.” He took a long drag. “I always knew that I'd only have a place in the world as long as there were monsters for me to fight. I just assumed I'd be killed long before that happened. Like Carl. My successor would have to carry on with my mission: ridding the world of the plague of your... of our kind.”

Reid nodded. It was as neat a summary as any.

“When you look at it, from the outside, it's perfectly fucking clear. Leeches are either rabid beasts, or the worst in humanity magnified and personified. Nests like Ascalon,” He growled his disgust, “Just prove that point. But now, now, there's Sean and even you. No matter what you do, Reid, you'll never be a force for good. No matter how many lives you save, you'll still keep killing. You're a monster. But that's not all you are.”

His lips twitching into a smile, Jonathan switched the cigarette to his other hand and reached out but Geoffrey shrugged away, shaking his head. Maybe he too had realised that the amulet was overwhelmed by direct contact. Perhaps he needed to be sure that the thoughts were still his own.

“No one gets a free ride.” He spat the words out, “Everyone gets fucked up by the situation they were born into. Everyone has to decide what to do with what they've inherited. No matter how shit the choice is, no matter how shit the options are, as long as we're alive, we get to choose. And, beast...the fact is,” Geoffrey seemed to calm at last. “I know you didn't want to become like this any more than I did.”

“No. But I'm long done with regretting it.”

Geoffrey nodded to himself, “Pointless, I suppose.”

_To hell with it_, Jonathan thought. “But you still do.”

Geoffrey's laugh was cold, and empty. He tried to take a drag, but the damp cigarette had died. Drawing his arm back with a bitter smile, the Hunter threw it violently out across the river.

“For now.” He said, and took Reid's hand, letting the connection form and linger.

Ian, weeping bloody tears as he begged for his life. Geoffrey, not turning away, not saying, 'No, you kill him. I don't want to be a monster.' It didn't matter whether he'd been right or wrong, in the end. The choice was all that mattered, and that he had made it.

No, the Hunter wasn't done regretting it, but he wasn't going to deny it any more. He had found something better to fight.


	17. Chapter 17

Word came quickly via the dead-drop, and the nights were punctuated with secret meetings with different Brotherhood plants. Every extra day that McCullum was gone would make finding him alive seem less likely. So they set the date, and got to work.

Two days. The night after next.

It wasn't a long time to plan a return from the dead, but it should be enough.

  
***

The night before the big one, McCullum took Charlotte aside and told her to stay home tomorrow. She could get anything she needed in the morning, but she must stay inside from the moment the sun started to slide down the sky. She took one look at his expression and did not argue.

  
***  
  


Jonathan hesitated before leaving Pembroke. His bag was loaded with all the supplies they'd need, but there was one more thing he had to do.

“Swansea.” He let the monster rule his voice as he opened the door.

Swansea didn't care. He greeted him as warmly, as desperately as ever. He invited him in, already asking what he could do for him. But this was no longer the carefree vampire Reid had left behind when he went to Scotland. The office was stacked with paper and only Jonathan knew why.

He was tempted to ask. Swansea expected him to ask. But he didn't have the time.

He said only, “Tomorrow night, stay in the public areas of the hospital, but make sure to be somewhere safe for sunrise. I may be about to earn many enemies.”

Swansea agreed. He didn't have a choice.

Jonathan left him to his work.

  
***

Sunrise. Sunset.

They opened their eyes together. For the first time, they were both fully dressed. Geoffrey had removed the amulet last night, and he did not put it back on. Tonight, they might need the extra edge.

***

The garden was bare and practical. It existed to maintain distance between the house and the rest of the world, nothing more. Geoffrey and Jonathan went over the fence together, touching down lightly on the other side.

Geoffrey had shared more of his tricks than any vampire hunter should be comfortable with. In return, Reid had brought his intimate knowledge of the layout and a key to the back door. They were both ready, armed to the teeth, and about to fulfil any vampire hunter's wettest dream.

His beloved crossbow was a welcome weight on his arm. He couldn't leave it behind. It might not survive the night, but it deserved one last hurrah. A quick glance to Reid, crouching low, muscles tensed. Geoffrey was ready. He had been born ready.

The door to the Ascalon Club swung open, revealing rich, red carpets and a surprised looking vampire in a plain black suit.

Perfect.

Geoffrey flung himself at the leech with Reid covering him, surging alongside and turning to check the hall. The blood connection between them blew wide open and they were just one beast with two bodies, two minds, and a truly excessive arsenal.

The leech took a shotgun blast at point blank range, straight to the chest. It wouldn't kill him, so McCullum blew off a kneecap with the second shot for good measure.

Reid's thoughts bubbled through his; there was a Vulkod on the stairs, its suit and braces looking ridiculous on its monstrous frame. Towards the front door, two more vampires in black suits were wheeling around. Redgrave had increased his security.

It wouldn't be enough. Not when they were together.

Reid froze the blood in the Vulkod's veins and leapt in, unsheathing his sword and carving down into the beast's neck. They would need to frenzy it quickly before the doormen could arrive to fight alongside.

“Stay down and don't move.” McCullum snarled into the stunned face of the first leech, lying on the floor. “We're not here for you.” Then he brought his beloved crossbow about and planted a stake through the leech's shoulder, pinning it to the ground.

McCullum spun, reloading, raising his arm. Reid leapt clear as McCullum fired, marching a line of silver crossbow bolts up the Vulkod's side. Grey skin sputtered and started to burn immediately, eliciting a scream of rage and destroying any chance it had of a sane fight.

The two doormen leapt towards them; a trail of shadows bursting in their wake.

McCullum; _Swap._

McCullum drew his sword on the Vulkod as Reid leapt for the vampires, overwhelming one with an unbroken torrent of violence; claws, sword and teeth flashing without pause. It flew backwards, still alive but off its feet, and he wheeled to leap on the other before it could close with Geoffrey.

The Vulkod roared and lunged; an enraged animal wanting only to bite and tear. McCullum leapt back, stepped side-ways, trusting Reid to keep its backup busy while he slashed at the brute like a matador with a bull. He had tangled with Vulkods when he was human. They were the most terrifying and bestial of all the immortal breed and it had always been a desperate struggle. Now, it felt like child's play. His incredible speed made it only a matter of patience, of not overcommitting, of choosing his moments.

The first shout of alarm echoed from above.

Reid_; Here we go._

Reid tore into the throat of one of the vampires, drawing hard to replace the blood he had spent. As the shout caught Reid's attention, the Ekon managed to throw him off, driving the heel of his hand into Reid's nose to force the fangs out of his neck.

Reid rolled, rose, snarled, and took the Ekon's head off with his claws.

McCullum; _Swap. Let me look._

Reid threw himself at the Vulkod, sword flashing. As McCullum spun to engage the remaining doorman, he was able to glance to the upper floors. The stairs carinated to left and right at the wall, sweeping back to two balconies running the length of the hall. There were three Ekon up there at the far end, their expressions contorted in fear, rage and abject surprise.

The surviving doorman saw his split-attention and took advantage. It dodged, sidestepped and slashed at him on the return. McCullum saw his strategy with barely enough time to twist into the blow. The little fucker had been aiming for the crossbow.

McCullum would sooner take it as a slash to the arm. Stupid, maybe, but it was his choice to make.

_Ah well. _As his right arm went limp, he let the sword drop and closed his left hand around the comforting weight of a revolver. He satisfied himself with emptying the chamber into the leech's face. It fell. Reid, dancing back from another wild swing from the Vulkod, took the opportunity to shred it in passing. It didn't get up again.

Still, they had to drop the Vulkod before the three upstairs could get involved. With the advantage of height and safe distance, those Ekon could pepper them with distractions until the beast won through.

Reid; _Buy us time._

Geoffrey darted past Reid and Vulkod both as he surged up the stairs to the first landing. The beast wheeled towards the movement but Reid leapt on it, driving his sword into its chest, securing its attention.

McCullum; _Ah, fuck it. Why not ?_

“PRIWEN PREVAILS.” The old battle-cry felt damn good as he lobbed a Priwen special across the distance. The three Ekon recognised it and fled back in fluttering bursts of shadow as the grenade went off, belching orichalcum powder and yellow pollen into the air.

That bought them time for the messy business as they both fell to duelling with the behemoth. They traded turns, hacking and slashing, goading the beast to turn its back on the other. Turn and turn about, until that precious moment when it overreached for Reid. McCullum rested the snub little mouth of his shotgun between its shoulder blades and blew its heart out through its chest.

Reid dragged his sword free and McCullum took its head off to be certain. Not a moment too soon, as the floor beneath them darkened and glistened. They split up; Reid taking the left stairway, McCullum taking the right. Behind them, the dark stain ripped upwards in a surge of burning blood; a sign that the top floor Ekon had joined the fight at last.

Reid and McCullum advanced fast down opposite balconies, clearing the floor. A shadow whipping up the stairs warned them both that the first doorman had gotten free and declined McCullum's invitation to sit it out. He was closing on Reid's exposed back, sword raised.

Reid; _Get down. _

Geoffrey hit the deck. Jonathan smiled and let pain become ecstasy as his bones cracked, shoulders split and he finally unleashed a storm inside Ascalon. He had been so uncertain of himself the first time he had come here. He had been forced to play their game by his own ignorance of his lineage and Redgrave's. If Elisabeth had known then what he was, that his blood was as potent as Ascalon's sacred relic, she may not have encouraged him to such obsequiousness.

He repaid it all now, as unfettered claws tore their preposterous suits and dessicated flesh to ribbons. One of them howled in pain and Reid could taste the blood of at least three when he came back to himself.

The doorman hit the ground with a dull thump.

God, but they were powerful together.

They were divided now by the open space between them and could follow the curve back to each other only once they reached the end of the mezzanines. For now, it was better to force their target to divide their attention, to herd their enemy into a single point.

McCullum was rising the instant Reid stopped, shotgun reloaded and spitting fire into the Ekon in front of him. It screamed as it fell, but another was closing rapidly. A chunk had been ripped out of its shoulder by Reid; sinews and vessels gaping as clean as a bite out of an apple.

The bastard wasn't done though, and his sword arm was still good. A clash of blades, a quick riposte and the rapier sliced Geoffrey's thigh to the bone. Time was, that would have been a serious problem. Now, it was just an inconvenience as he dropped and rolled, healing fast.

Then a cold fist was gripping his heart and dragging the blood out of his veins. Another Ekon, just as old and powerful, stepping in. They were ignoring Reid for now, intent on dropping his Progeny as quickly as they could.

_Oh, fuck. _He thought, as the rapier flashed down.

_Geoffrey!_ Reid's response was pure fury as he spun and launched a vicious blood spear across the distance, taking the attacking vampire off his feet.

_USE THE DAMN GUNS_. McCullum's training all but took over Reid's body, yanking the pistols free and unloading them in a steady, punishing rain. They didn't do much damage to vampires, but every impact was a hammer-blow, buying time.

McCullum was free at last, driving his sword in to pin this leech to the wall as well.

Abruptly, Reid was beside him again, roaring, shouting as he seized the other Ekon by the face.

“REDGRAVE ! We want a word. Unless you wish to replace what is left of your club, GET OUT HERE.”

McCullum was already digging deep and the shadows leapt to life even as the remaining leech summoned his blood into a spear. This was still new to Geoffrey, but he was getting the feel for it now. Easy enough to wrench the monster's leg up, to drag him screaming into the air and give Reid a chance to drive his own sword down and through with his free hand.

“REDGRAVE!” He roared again.

“Yes, Yes. I hear you.” Came the absurdly sneering reply. “Cease this barbarity and put that man down, Doctor Reid.”

The tide of violence ebbed.

Reid's claws were nested deep in the face and skull of one Lord Arundel, but that leech wasn't struggling any more. He was only staring with one, wide, terrified eye; all his predatory prepossession abandoning him before Reid's bestial fury.

Redgrave did not come to meet them. He only waited, now that he had spoken, now that he had revealed his location and broken whatever veil he had been hiding behind. He stood defiantly before the dais, a glass of not-wine pinched in his hand. The man looked dessicated. If not by years, then by the way he seemed to be holding his own corpse together.

“Good evening Lord Redgrave.” Geoffrey couldn't help it; he'd waited too damn long. He touched his hand to his head as if doffing a cap, then trained his crossbow on the leech.

The leech only sneered and addressed Jonathan directly. “It seems you've acquired a pet, Doctor Reid.”

“Careful milord,” Geoffrey cautioned, “I'm not broken in yet. I might still bite.”

Still by the wall, Reid whispered to the leech in his claws. “Stay down and I'll give you a chance to live.”

Following McCullum's previous example, he pinned Arundel to the wall with a stake for good measure. Then he stood again. Practise made it easy to reshape himself, from implacable beast to civilised gentleman, neat and tidy, sword and claws sheathed.

“He might, Lord Redgrave. But if what you say is true,” Reid said, with a brief emphasis to make clear that all three knew it wasn't. “Then he has the same pedigree as you do, so it would be appropriate to address him with a little more respect regardless.”

“I decline to give respect to ruffians and savages. Regardless of the nobility of your lineage, your conduct speaks enough to your character. Get out, before all of Ascalon descends upon you.”

“No, Redgrave. I'll admit you had me taken in, at first.” Reid said slowly, warningly. “But that was partly because Elisabeth warned me to be cautious. You are much, much older than me. Your reach is long, especially in the mortal world. But I have gained a great deal of perspective.”

“You lack perspective like all newborns.” Redgrave spat, “Drunk on the power you have over mortal men, valuing nothing but what you can take. True power, true control is so much more than you can understand in one lifetime alone.”

“I agree with you.” Reid assented, “And that's why I've realised that you, sir, are a necessary evil. You exist as the authority that lesser vampires respond to. You are the guard that keeps the tourists in check. I believe that humanity will suffer less for your presence than your absence. As long as you exist, there will be a little less chaos on the world.” He spoke low now, in tones of the most sincere respect. “So, I'm not going to fight you, Lord Redgrave. I'm going to let you go.”

“How magnanimous of you. And if I decline to leave ?”

Reid strode towards him with the calm confidence of a panther. Once again, he joined Redgrave on the dais before the sacred urn. They faced one another. Both had their hands visible; both deceptively calm. It was hard to tell what Redgrave expected of him, but Jonathan smiled, pleased by how much things had changed.

“You won't. I have a gift for you, Lord Redgrave.” Reid said and with one lightening-quick movement, he lifted the lid from the sacred urn.

Redgrave didn't flinch, but his eyes widened and his nostrils flared, his hand sliding to where his sword ought to have been. Of course, he didn't carry one in these safe, civilised confines. “You wouldn't _dare_!”

“It's the same blood, Redgrave.” Reid said, softly. “William Marshall and I share the same Maker. I didn't think you'd object, knowing how you treasure your lineage.”

Never taking his eyes from the ancient vampire, Jonathan let a claw slide from his thumb to prick his finger. The blood welled up. For a moment, Redgrave's eyes narrowed.

“I know we understand one another.” Reid said. “Leave London and let Priwen consider the day won. Go somewhere else. Rebuild your Club. Only stay away from my Progeny, and we'll not meet again.” A single drop fell to join Marshall's in the urn.

Only Reid could have seen it. A flicker in the eyes, nothing more, and Redgrave surrendered. McCullum felt it well it enough, tied to his Maker as he was. He could hear the subtext, the words Reid couldn't say lest the remaining vampires overheard; _You are weaker than you pretend to be, and now I will always be able to find you._

Redgrave raised his glass to Reid, then drained it, setting it down on the table. “You need not have resorted to such course methods, but I recognise my obligations to my Maker even if you do not. Very well, **Doctor** Reid. I can only hope time teaches you manners more appropriate to your station, since it is not myplace to do so.”

Jonathan lifted the urn, and pressed it into Redgrave's hands. Then he leaned close, close enough to bite, close enough so that only Redgrave could hear him whisper, “Take your precious relic, sir, and get out of my city.”

***

  
They had made good time. Still, it wouldn't be long before Priwen started closing in. This wasn't the real victory, it was just a step on the road.

While Reid disposed of the unexpected Vulkod into the sewer, McCullum covered the surviving vampires. Of the six of them, two were conscious, two would not rise again and two were out cold; dead to all purposes for the night. McCullum had neither staked them nor cut their heads off. They would regenerate, and rise again tomorrow if they had the chance, which they wouldn't.

The other two were compliant enough. The combined reputation of Reid and McCullum was enough that they were ready to listen when McCullum said, “Good news, beasts. If you're well behaved, we're going to give you a chance to get away in a few minutes. So mind your manners and sit tight.” Still, he covered them anyway while Reid worked. You should never trust a leech.

***  
  
Ten minutes later, and they were almost out of time. Down in the basement below the Ascalon club, Jonathan knelt before Geoffrey, resting one hand on his cheek.

“Last chance.” Jonathan whispered, “Are you sure ?”

McCullum snorted, meeting his eyes. “A fine time to have second thoughts, beast.” He dragged a sigh, already breathing habitually. “It's now or never. I'll see you on the other side, one way or another.”

Reid nodded and kissed him, not caring if the two Ascalon vampires overheard. If this all went wrong, Geoffrey could be dead before he could intervene. It made his blood simmer, made him want to kill them all, every last one, before that risk could manifest. Geoffrey felt it.

“Reid,” He spoke against the kiss, tilting his mouth away and bringing their foreheads together, “Don't get broody on me now.”

“I'll do my best.” Reid promised.

“How do I look ?” Geoffrey asked in that sweet brogue Reid so adored.

“Absolutely awful.”

He did. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks were sallow. Even knowing that this was only a mask, Reid struggled to disbelieve it. The Hunter was pinned to the wall, hanging from his wrists by a steel hook. Shirtless and hanging slack, he looked tormented, used, kept alive only for the pleasure of his suffering.

Reid took it in, and said, “Just one thing left.”

Reid placed the tip of the knife under Geoffrey's pectoral muscle and drew it around, slowly, languorously, as if he had been savouring this rare catch. He repeated it, here and there, drawing small lines in every spot that tempted him, blotting some and cleaning others with his tongue. Then he placed the knife down, picked up a cudgel and slammed it against the ribs. Two of them cracked as Geoffrey grunted and fresh blood welled under the skin in a livid bruise. By the time he was found, it would look days old.

Time was running out. They couldn't risk overrunning. He stooped for one last, hungry kiss, and checked that no sign of blood remained around Geoffrey's mouth.

“I'll see you tomorrow night.” He promised.

Then he dragged the two Ascalon vampires up the stairs, telling them, “You two are the only ones who know about this performance. If word gets out, I will know who to come for. I hope that you will make sure it doesn't.”

Yes, Jonathan might not scheme the way Geoffrey thought he did, but he improvised well. They had brought them downstairs only because they hadn't been able to leave them unsupervised. Now, if they survived, they would help to keep the secret.

He could already hear the Guard forming in the courtyard as they came upstairs not a moment too soon.

“Right.” Jonathan said, as he placed Geoffrey's crossbow on Lord Redgrave's desk, exactly where it would have sat as a discussion piece; a trophy; a souvenir of the defeat of a man like Geoffrey McCullum.

“In a few moments, Priwen will come through those doors.”

He cut their bonds and held out his wrist to Lord Arundel, the Ekon who had yielded readily upstairs. It felt like noble thing to do.

“Drink if you need to.”

Arundel didn't need a second invitation, and he bit down gratefully. It stung, but nothing at all like the sweet pain of Geoffrey's bite.

“I will leave through the back.” Reid went on, “If either of you follows me, I will kill you. But if you can make it out another way, you're free to go.”

The sound of running feet, just outside.

“Good luck.”

Reid wrenched his wrist away as the doors to the Ascalon club exploded inwards. A volley of crossbow fire erupted through the opening, punching into the carcasses of the fallen vampires Reid had placed there. The smell of dynamite singed the air along with the familiar clouds of burning, yellow gas.

Reid waited. Arundel and the other one darted forward, finding cover. Reid waited. Him waiting hadn't been part of the plan made with Geoffrey and the Guard, but he waited nonetheless. Priwen couldn't take this place unopposed. If it was going to be believable, if Geoffrey was going to survive, then a few of them had to die first.

***

He was singed and hurting badly by the time he escaped. He knew already that the waiting would hurt more. Powerless, he could only listen as the Guard tore through the remains of Ascalon. One Ekon got away. The other went down just outside the window in a hail of bolts. He couldn't tell which was which amid the smoke and gunfire. It seemed that they really had brought the whole guard.

He could only wait, listening to his blood singing as the Guard ransacked the manor. There were still so many things that could go wrong...If the wrong person went into the basement first... If someone with a cross came too close when they took Geoffrey down off the wall... Too many ifs, too many possibilities that made his jaw ache and drove him to pacing up and down the narrow roof.

Regardless of what he had said, if there was so much as a flash of pain from his Progeny, he'd descend on the Guard, even now. He wanted to lean into the connection, visit the room, but it was too important that Geoffrey remain focused.  
  
All he could do was wait, and listen.  
  
The police whistles were sounding already; the legitimate officers of the law drawn in by the noise and smoke. Priwen couldn't stay much longer. And still –

A ragged cheer rose.

The crowd at the front was parting, even as the first few police stumbled to a halt at the sight of the mob. The Guard formed a loose wall between the officers and the men who were staggering out of the door, clearing a path of escape. There were three of them; two Guard under the shoulders of a figure so badly abused he could not have stood without their support. But even beaten, even bloody, it was a man none could fail to recognise.

The Guard of Priwen had found their missing leader, and he was alive.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Author Thoughts on this particular bit of wish fulfilment!]
> 
> I know there's a lot of frustration that we couldn't get a boss fight with Redgrave (yeah, I was one of those who tried to draw my sword on him at Aloysius' mansion on my 'evil' playthrough). But I got the impression that Redgrave could -never- have been a threat to Reid. He's old, yes. He's a *clever* leech. But based on the strength of the other Ascalon members we fight, it seems they have little to show for their years compared with Reid's few weeks as a vampire. This felt like the marked difference between Myrddin's progeny and so-called 'lesser lineages'. 
> 
> Redgrave has convinced people that he is from that line; almost as innately powerful as Reid, plus centuries to evolve. He has convinced people that he only -chooses- not to dirty his own hands. But his power is all a show; influence and manipulation. And then this newly born vampire actually KILLS Fergal. 
> 
> Redgrave is suddenly vulnerable, but he turns it to his advantage. He needs to get Reid on a leash *now*, before he thinks to challenge Redgrave directly... and what better excuse than Mary - the proof of his potent blood ? 
> 
> He so badly needed Aloysius Dawson to bring the strength of Reid/Marshall into the Ascalon club... but then, the recalcitrant doctor refused. What else could Redgrave do, but make another pretence of strength by 'banishing' Reid from the club ? 
> 
> Elisabeth wasn't certain that Redgrave was lying, so she hasn't challenged him directly before now. Redgrave, on the other hand, probably knows how powerful Elisabeth is and uses the Ascalon Club's policies to justify publicly ignoring her. 
> 
> But Elisabeth is right; his reach is long, he could make unlife untenable for any vampire. But I felt that Redgrave was smart enough to back away from the very thing he's pretending to be, when it's right in front of him, with a Progeny that would just frikkin' love to take his head off. Maybe the conversation will go differently in a couple of centuries, when this powerful newborn has calmed down a bit. But, for now, he's smart, he's not going to poke the bear.
> 
> Just my thoughts :)


	18. Chapter 18

Reid hung over Priwen like a shadow. Geoffrey could feel him, close by though out of sight, as his injuries were attended to. The first man to make it to him with any claim on medical training turned out to be a recent addition to the ranks, very recent – two days ago, in fact. 'Doctor' Munro did not seem particularly keen to inspect his patient. He only busied himself in the back of the van, putting bandages where bandages seemed to be appropriate. He said little and avoided meeting McCullum's eye.

He stayed with him, fending off the swarm of well-wishers. Admittedly, Munro was much more proficient about that. There were so many faces, so many hands trying to take his own, it would have warmed him had their joyful hearts not been a relentless reminder of what he was. They reminded him with every thump and rush of blood, even as they welcomed him back to the land of the living.

Still, despite himself, it felt like coming home again.  
  
Geoffrey closed his eyes, and pretended to sleep. Out in the night, Reid prowled.

***

On the third night, Wilson came to see him in the sick bed he was forbidden to rise from. They both knew that he did, often. They didn't discuss it.

Wilson only opened the window, and told him that he and Geoffrey needed to talk about some things. It would probably take a couple of hours. He had put one of the lads at the door to turn away anyone who came to interrupt.

Geoffrey thanked him, and went out into the night.

***

Piercing blue eyes; inhumanly clear. A red stain on his lips.

God, he was beautiful.

“The doctor's given me three weeks in bed, but I'll be back up after one and chew the ear off anyone who tries to coddle me.”

“I'm sure you'd raise suspicions otherwise, but won't that make it harder to slip away?”

“I'll manage.”

“I'm glad to see you recovering so well.”

“You didn't hurt me nearly enough for it to last, beast.”

“Yes,” He said, licking the stain from those lovely lips. “I did.”  
  
****

No one would dare criticise his relentless smoking after what he'd been through and if Geoffrey McCullum thought this was a safe spot to take his smoke break, it probably was.

“I'll be declaring The Great Hunt over tomorrow. The last leeches have been culled, or fled into the countryside. A few patrols will go on sweep, but it's time to stand down the Guard proper.”

The shadows replied. “Well, that's a relief. I'm certain we'll sleep better for knowing there are no more vampires in London.”

“You're still an arse.”

The kiss was deep, and sweet with fresh blood.

****  
  
Another night. Another sunset. Another 'long conversation' with Wilson that he wasn't there for. He stretched, feeling the bones pop back into place.  
  
“The Guard will head for the continent. Even if we allow for a bit of exaggeration, I don't like what we're hearing from Flanders. Our boys deserve better than to be dug out of a shallow grave.”

“On that, we agree. And what about The Great Geoffrey McCullum ? Will he go with them ?”

“Officially, The Great Geoffrey McCullum is tired of paperwork and intrigue. He's named a successor. There's a rumour though, that he was too badly injured and the stubborn bastard will never take the time to recover as long as he thinks Priwen needs him – so his lieutenants are forcing his hand.”

“Cruel is the sting of betrayal, especially from a friend.”

“Careful there, beast.” A kiss, sharp and tender. “He'll go his own way for a time, but stay in touch, and he'll keep killing monsters til the day one finally takes him down.”

“I see. But, dear hunter, what monster could ever defeat you, unless you allow it ?”

“Fuck you, Reid.”

A low growl. “Soon enough.”

***

The weeks passed. The last few days felt like a funeral, Geoffrey thought. It felt peaceful. It felt like moving on.And then it was done.

Out in the coiling London smog, he was a free man. Or, a free vampire, as much as that was ever possible.

The ceremony had been a nice touch, though more for the benefit of the lads than for him. It had been a chance for him to remind them that they had fought for something, and won. A chance to recall those who hadn't made it this far, to remember their names, and promise that their sacrifice would not be forgotten. A chance to recognise that no matter how shitty the world might look, it was better for the blood they had shed and life went on.

McCullum had been surprised how much of it he still believed.

Still, tomorrow he would be receiving information from Priwen as an interested party, not as their Leader. He could do as he liked, more or less. It was more freedom than he'd ever wanted but now, it suited him.

The smell of roses rolled over him as he opened the door to the Manor.

“Goddammit, Reid.” He growled, only half-angry. The bastard had developed a romantic streak lately. It was oddly charming.

Of course, the roses were red as blood. Amid their petals, a white card shone out in contrast. He took it.

No written message, but it looked like Reid had pressed the side of bloodied thumbs down on it, one after the other, making a true Vinegar Valentine's heart shape. In his own blood, from the smell of it. Bloody daft. He shook his head. Too bloody daft.

Too bloody daft for Reid.

Some dim Hunter's instinct was sitting up, trying to get his attention. He fumbled with the amulet, hesitated for just a moment, then trusted his gut and lifted it off.

The velvet punch of Reid killing almost bent him double. His teeth ached, fangs staying flat only through long practice. His Maker was utterly lost, gorging on blood richer than any they had taken together, and thinking of Geoffrey only to regret that they never would.

His instincts leapt up and screamed at him; slivers of information aligning in his subconscious; odd comments and conversations falling into place, finding context, forming a puzzle.

He could have formed it into a thought if he'd taken the time, but there wasn't time. McCullum bolted upstairs, dropping the amulet back around his neck as he cleared the steps. He all but took the bedroom door off its hinges.

If McCullum had been half a minute slower, he would already have been gone. But if McCullum hadn't taken off the amulet briefly, Reid wouldn't have known he was coming. But he hadn't, and he had. So instead -  
  
Instead, there was just this one moment.

Motionless.

Reid always set a scene well; some combination of his attention to detail, the detachment of a physician and his appreciation of the dramatic. The only light came from the desk lamp, pinning a pile of notes in the harsh white circle. There were roses laid around it.

Thus backlit, Reid looked up at him over the curve of Charlotte's neck. Blood trickled from his lower lip, pooling delicately on her skin.

His blood-red eyes, so monstrous and reptilian, gentled at the sight of him. But there was pain there too; the endless suffering that Reid considered an irrevocable component of their condition. And regret: fathomless. But there was no doubt in them. No doubt at all.

“Don't -” Geoffrey said.

It was all the time he had.

Reid went. The body fell towards the bed, towards the fresh sheets that were the colour of wine. New window shutters whistled with the wind of his departure. A single white card shone amid the dark tangle of Charlotte's hair.

Geoffrey caught her as she fell.

He cursed the impulse that had made him put the amulet back on. The thoughts he had caught had felt so damn final. What else might he have heard, if he'd just stopped and listened instead of charging in ?

But he didn't need that at least, to know that Reid was giving him a choice. Chase after him while he still could, or … Charlotte.

Reid had drained her to the point that her heart was barely beating. Geoffrey was no doctor. She didn't have a chance, unless he gave her one.

Could he do this ?

Did Reid _expect_ him to be able do this ?

He'd be bringing another monster into the world. Another blood-drinker. Another killer. Expanding the ranks of the beasts who preyed on humanity.

But if he didn't, Charlotte would die. He wouldn't be able to take that back. He would never be able to take that back. He was complicit in this. There was no point deluding himself, he could have chased her away weeks ago, saved her life through cruelty. But he hadn't been willing to act the monster, hadn't been able to turn his back on who he had been. So she had stayed in the trap, and she was dying.

Her heart was already stuttering. He didn't need to be a doctor to know that there wasn't time. Whatever he decided now, he had to decide now.

Whatever he chose, the result would be monstrous.

_Damn him._

He cradled her in his arms, feeling her heart slowing through her skin. Then he bit into his wrist and took a long draw of blood.

His wouldn't be a cruel Judas kiss. If she was still there, still conscious, she wouldn't remember this the way he remembered Reid. Gently, he raised a thumb to her mouth, parting her lips. Then he brought his face to hers, and let his tongue carry the precious blood into her mouth, into her throat, to do what it would.

Her lips moved; a weak but deliberate tensing against his. Enough to be a kiss in return. Enough to know that she was there, that she was grateful, that she knew it was him.

“I'm sorry.” He told her, when it was done. “You'll know why, soon enough.”

Amid the wine-coloured sheets and the rose petals, he laid her down to die. At least she wouldn't be conscious for this part as he had been. He still remembered how it had felt as the blood burned through his body; a spreading fire that leapt between his living cells, twisting and reforming each one into something utterly inhuman.

He didn't know how long it would take. He didn't know anything about this, except that if you found the corpses with blood on their lips, you took the heads off to make sure.

Unable to think of anything else to do, weighed down by the gravity of what he'd done, McCullum removed the amulet.

But there was only silence. Wherever he was, Reid did not want to talk.

Geoffrey rubbed at his face, rubbed away the blood on his own lips. He had thought he had a handle on Reid, enough to see something like this coming. How could he still be so fucking naïve ?

As he leaned back, something pricked his palm. He closed his hand around it and looked. A small, white card; the one that had been in Charlotte's hair. On one side, there was another heart in Reid's blood. On the other, a simple message.

_The best I could do. For both of you._

It didn't make sense. Except that it did. It made too many things make sense.

His eyes fell on the desk, and the pile of notes. Shifting his senses, he could smell the bloody handprint Reid had left beside it; a message to McCullum that this was important. No, he wasn't naïve any more. He knew Reid. He knew leeches.

Reid had wanted to tell him something. It might not tell McCullum what he was thinking, but it would be a start. While Charlotte died, while she slept, her Maker sat down at the desk.

They turned out to be notes, scrawled in Reid's untidy hand. Bloody thumbprints, like the one on the card, appeared here and there throughout. Ignoring them at first, he scanned the first page.

_JOURNAL OF BROTHER ROLETUS, C1650.  
__Reference made by Vulkod, unnamed, Norway, translates as:  
_“_I would know fear only in Nimrod and so I know none.”_

_PARTIALLY-BURNED MANUSCRIPT, UNDATED. (Alexandria??)  
_ _Translates as : The determination of Nemrod is enduring, that the towers …. by the bloodrinker... and fall to [ashes?]_

McCullum snarled despite himself. The next few lines, then the next few pages were the same. Enough to tell him exactly what Reid had been delving into, all those long nights when McCullum had felt so lost. Enough to tell him why Reid had left the notes behind.

They were pointless and irrelevant now. He might have entertained the idea of the Nemrod in his early nights, when he would have considered mythical means to hide his nature among Priwen. But not now – they had found a way around that. Bloody thumbprints seemed to mark passages Reid thought particularly relevant, but most of it was only myths and legends.

He dug deeper into the pile. Another bloody thumb print. Another paragraph.

_UNSIGNED CORRESPONDENCE, C1450  
_ _Reply regarding investigation into missing Ekon. German. Translates: _

_In conclusion, I urge you to cease your enquiries at once. These creatures are no more phantoms of myth or legend as you or I. They are thankfully few and obey their own laws and customs, but they will not suffer our kind to encounter them and live. Your fee will be paid in full and -_

McCullum read on, with a growing sense of urgency. Another thumb print, another interview between a member of the Brotherhood and an Ekon.

_EXTRACT FROM INTERVIEW WITH DRUSTUS ARDEN, CLAIMED BORN C450_   
_Translated from German: _   
_No, dearest friend. They are not merely our counterpart breed in Assyria. They are not born of some ancient bloodline. They are born of our own blood. They might be better considered a cautionary tale : a legend that speaks of the price of deceit, that advises against careless creation of our kind._

Pages flickered like beating wings as McCullum moved on. Another account. A transcript.

_ANDREWS : Is it true ?_

_CT MARTINIQUE: Of course, it is true. What was your phrasing... humanity sees us as the deer sees the wolf ? They are our wolves. Unnatural. Incomprehensible to us as we are to you. By necessity, like wolves, like us, they are rarer than their prey. _

_ANDREWS: And their prey is other immortals ?_

_CT MARTINIQUE: As you say. However, there is one key difference. I think they are eager for the day when they have culled the last of us, and they will starve with joy in their black hearts._

The pages turned and then, abruptly, McCullum ran out. Only when he reached the end, he knew it couldn't be.

The man who had given Doris Fletcher a chance to make her final proclamation, who had responded to her in oratorical tones and allowed her the drama she wished to die by... that man would not leave notes like this without a point. The man who had Turned him, in part for the poetic justice of seeing the Hunter hunted, would not have staged a scene like this without a purpose.

The vampire who had taken a vampire hunter as his Progeny would not leave a trail if it did not lead somewhere. He went back, and found it.  
  
It was Reid's scrawl that clued him in. Always hard to read, it was almost indecipherable on this page; looping wildly in his excitement. A single page. The transcript of a phonograph recording, meticulously copied in its entirety. But around the edges, Reid's notes filled every margin.  
  
McCullum read it.  
  
He read it again.

The penny dropped at last.

Reid wasn't coming back. He was running.

McCullum rose with such violence that the chair flew back and tumbled across the floor. But then, his eyes fell on the bed, and the deceptively delicate figure lying there. Oh, Reid had played his hand well. But he had made one mistake ; he had underestimated him again.  
  



	19. At the end of the Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All great hunts must have their end, and this one can be no different.

The saline stink of the docks was strangely invigorating. Of all the things Jonathan would leave behind, he would be glad to leave the Thames. Too many memories from his early nights, too many bodies carried out to sea or devoured by the silt. As the ship hummed out onto the river, he wished a fond farewell to Father Thames, if he existed. These days, Jonathan wouldn't assume that he didn't.

He was wool-gathering, trying to think of anything but what he had done. Regret was a hollow pit in his chest. He would fill it, in time. For now, he couldn't let himself dwell on it. He couldn't let himself think about certain people.

It was strange to think that 'his' coffin lay below decks. Tomorrow, he might at last be sleeping in it; truly the nosferatu of legend. The sources were conflicted about whether the open water would pose a problem at all, but he intended to be prepared. If storm or tides delayed them, it was lined with earth from his 'native land', which might help it hurt a little less.

He had never been so superstitious before. Of course, he hadn't _been_ a superstition then.

As they passed under the bridge, he caught a flash of movement in the shadows beneath it that was too fast to be human. Geoffrey would be disappointed when he discovered that Priwen had missed one. But, Jonathan corrected himself, he would not think about Geoffrey. Perhaps it was Old Bridget, seeing him off in her silent way.

Land. Earth. How far would he have to go to feel free of this place ? Myrddin had said that he was 'the land'. Did that only mean England, or any land the blood of hate was brought to? If those ancient entities could only exist on the British Isles, it would explain the close quarters of so many arcane factions.

The deck darkened beneath his feet. He was so focused on his thoughts that he almost missed the warning.

The shadows came alive beneath him. Reid sprang back, already mustering his own grip on those cthonic powers. It took all his concentration to turn them aside when they speared towards him.

So he didn't see what it was that hit him from the side like a train. He only knew the stunning force of the blow, and the Thames leaping up to meet him as he went over the side.

The water was cold, and dark. He had gotten used to being able to see in the dark of night, but this was more than that. It was the absence of light; clouding silt blocking out the sky. He snarled but didn't struggle. He didn't need to breathe. He could orientate himself first.

Listen. Reach out. There. He struck out in the direction of the boat's other passengers. His coat was dragging him down and it struck him suddenly what it might be like to be caught in the river mud, sucked down, never dying, never drowning, only held until perhaps drought and tide combined enough to drain the river. He tore it off in a sudden frenzy, and missed the moment when his attacker leapt in after him.

The first he knew of it was a roar of air as it broke the surface and seized his shoulder, dragging him upwards. At least it was dragging him in the right direction, so he let it until they broke the surface and he could see.

Geoffrey.

_Oh._

He had honestly expected him to stay with Charlotte, but apparently the Hunter could still surprise him. Still, if he was here, that meant he knew. McCullum needed Reid dead. If he expected Reid to roll over now that he was caught, he would be sorely disappointed.

He let loose with his claws. Slowed by the water, he still caught the Hunter powerfully enough to break his grip while the black water came suddenly alive with the smell of blood. Geoffrey went for the blunt option, punching him in the face, driving Jonathan under the surface again.

So be it. He grabbed the Hunter around the waist and pulled him down as well. It was farcical, struggling against the weight of the river, but he didn't intend to stay there. He pressed his heels into the Hunter's chest and kicked out, hard.

It launched them to opposite sides of the river. Jonathan whipped around like a sewer rat. He had never been so glad to feel the slimy stones of the bank as he hauled himself up and out.

He spun, searching. No sign of the Hunter. A brief pang of regret stabbed through the frenzy. If he had misjudged, he might have sent Geoffrey down into the mud to face that horrible fate. If he had, he couldn't just leave him.

Jonathan searched the oily surface, but saw no sign on the near bank or far. Perhaps he could find a rope or chain, and cast it in for Geoffrey to haul himself out.

The black surface erupted as the Hunter launched upwards from the mooring rings. Jonathan cursed himself, leaping backwards as Geoffrey swung. Neither of them had any weapons beyond what their blood gave them, but they knew each other well. As he lunged, Jonathan caught him and swung him face-first into the wall. A crunch; of stone or bone, he couldn't tell and didn't care.

He leapt away, climbing the flood-walls like a spider. He had to get away; he didn't think he had it in him to kill Geoffrey even in self-defence. Over the railing and the good, firm cobbles were under his feet again. A drunk yelled in surprise as he bolted past, then yelled again; giving Jonathan a moment's warning before Geoffrey landed on him from behind, wrapping both arms around his waist and bearing them both to the ground.

“Stop it, you stupid bastard.” Geoffrey roared as they rolled together.

Jonathan twisted and drove his claws under Geoffrey's jaw, forcing him to let go or let his face be torn away. They had wrestled exactly like this once before. When he drove in with a spear of blood this time, Geoffrey anticipated it, rolling with the force.

But Geoffrey didn't have his arsenal. There would be no quick thinking, no sly tactics, only blood and brutality. Not even that, if Jonathan could avoid it. As Geoffrey drove in, he leapt back, saw an opening high above, and leapt for it.

The Hunter gave him no time to escape. He was on his heels, snarling as they leapt through into the building. A sound of wrenching steel and he knew Geoffrey had a weapon. There was nothing to hand for Jonathan. As the Hunter swung, Jonathan whirled and froze the blood in his veins.

It wasn't enough. The huge pipe in Geoffrey's hands carried on under its own momentum and struck, knocking Jonathan senseless. His ears rang, his eyes struggled to focus and just as he started to regain control of his limbs, the Hunter broke free.

Geoffrey drove a spike through his shoulder, pinning him to the floor. Reid started to tear away, willing to rip his own shoulder open and damn the consequences. But Geoffrey was on top of him, holding him, pinning him onto it.

Jonathan stopped struggling. It was over.

“Stop it. Stop running.” The Irishman growled, flecks of blood and spit falling from the open wounds in his face as they closed. “Stop running and fucking listen.”

With that, the Hunter put his hand to his own chest, seized the amulet and broke the chain with a jerk. As their eyes met, his Progeny's thoughts washed over him.

“Oh.” Reid whispered. It was the only thing to say.

Geoffrey knew.

Geoffrey knew and he didn't care.

The Nemrod; The Huntsman; the Vampire Hunter of Vampires had been the bogeymen of Ekon kind for generations, able to go undetected among mortal and immortals alike.

The Brotherhood had only one full record, from just twelve years ago. Two of their members seemed to have encountered one. There had been no notes, no records left to explain how they had found it, and they had both gone missing without any other trace. But between them, they had extracted a last conversation with the creature before they died.

The phonograph sound recorder was such a recent invention. How could the creature have known to remove the canister, as well as destroying the machine ? It hadn't. The recording was hazy, most of it unintelligible, but there was enough.

This was the truth : No Ekon truly needed to feed on human blood. It was an eternal temptation; a thirst they always gave into eventually, but it wasn't **necessary.** They could sustain themselves from any blood. Only human blood bestowed the addictive euphoria and once the addiction set in, it was nearly impossible to break.

Nemrod knew no such addiction. It all tasted the same. They were not a subspecies of vampire. No dark rites were required to create one. All that was required was this : The Nemrod must find the strength to kill its Maker and devour them. With that act, the circle was closed.

Biologically it made sense; the mix of their killer's blood and theirs, stabilising their ever-shifting blood profile, neutralising its volatile reactivity.

All Geoffrey would have to do was rip his throat out now and drink him to the dregs, and the thirst would end. He would never lose control again. He would be the monster that the monsters feared, forever.  
  
Jonathan's death was the cure.

And Geoffrey didn't want to take it.

“Oh.” He said again, as Geoffrey finally sank back, removing his weight from his chest.

Geoffrey nodded. Jonathan reached for the spike in his shoulder, but struggled to get purchase around the blood-slick shaft. The Hunter reached over and yanked it out. It hurt. Jonathan knew he deserved it.

He had to ask. It sounded stupid even to him, but he had to ask. “Why not ?”

Geoffrey surged forward again, but Jonathan didn't flinch. Power radiated from his Progeny as, for the first time, he held his Maker down and forced him to meet his gaze. Jonathan saw past the mask, to the blue eyes. The pupils had already narrowed to catlike slits; a sign of the growing number of times he had given in to the hunger.

“What do you want me to say, Reid?” He growled. “That I like it ? Well, I do. I love it. I love the taste, I love the way it makes me feel, I love the rush before and after. It gives me shivers every time. I don't **ever** want to stop. But that's not why.”

Jonathan waited, patient. The healed flesh stood out white on both of their chests, where their soaked clothing had been torn to ribbons in the struggle. Geoffrey let himself down, bringing their bodies together, one inch of skin at a time.

At last, he started to speak again. “Do you want me to say I don't blame you ? I do. For everything. You gave me the hunger in the first place. Then you got me hooked when I might have got clean if I'd stayed the course. But that's not why either.

“I told you already. Everyone gets fucked up by the situation they were born into. Everyone has to decide what to do with what they get. No matter how shit the choice is, no matter how shit the options are, as long as we're alive, we get to choose.”

Geoffrey sighed heavily, and rested his forehead against Jonathan's. The skin was cold and wet, and neither of them smelled like themselves amid the stink of the river. But that didn't matter. The contact was all that mattered.

“I chose. I chose poorly. I was already feeding, even if I only let myself do it when I lost control. So I took the easy road and hated you for it.” Those beautiful eyes closed in pain as he hissed, “It was your fucking fault after all, at the start. But then I did it again. And then I chose to hate myself for it. And then I chose stop hating myself and come with you. Always the easy road. Same fucking tune, different fucking song.”

Jonathan listened. It felt like all he could do.

“It won't be easy, but I'll take the hard road over the easy one on this.” Geoffrey tilted his head and his lips brushed Jonathan's as he said, “I'm done. No more fucking excuses. No one else's path. This is my choice.”

Geoffrey's lips were the most important thing in the world, as they pursed and parted against his, as his tongue welcomed Reid's into his mouth.

Clear in his mind, singing between them, Jonathan heard the words he didn't say aloud:

_You're mine, Reid. _

And he knew it was true.

The kiss went on. There was no urgency. They had time, so much time. No breaths needed to break them apart, no reason to rush, no reason not to let it go on forever.

Except, there was one, wasn't there. Jonathan drew a breath to speak, and Geoffrey moved back an inch.

“I expected you to try.” He said, softly, eyes still half-closed, speaking against Geoffrey's lips. “I thought perhaps... perhaps you could support each other, see if she could make it without. If she could, you could.”

“Of course you did.” Geoffrey gave him a little shake, but didn't move away. “You're a doctor. You treat people. That's you. This is me. If I can't tie up one baby fucking vampire, I don't deserve the credit people give me.”

Jonathan's eyes snapped open in surprise and pleasure. Geoffrey grinned back, his own eyes shining.

Not even regret could last forever. No matter the choices they had made, as long as they were alive, there would always be another chance to choose. Some choices would be easy, others would be hard. The options would not always be good ones. But those choices were theirs to make.

No one could take that from them.

This time, Jonathan Reid; Chosen of Myrddin, saviour of London, doctor, vampire, monster, chose to stay.

****  
  
Thank you for reading.  
~Fin~  
  
*****  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES   
  
This is the first fanfic I've ever written, so every single comment makes me squeal with glee. Please do pop a comment on if you enjoyed it :) And since I'm planning on doing some “after the ending” little bits (which may involve certain people and may already be partly written...) let me know if there's something you're hoping to see. If it lines up with something I had in mind, it'll be an amazing push to make me finish up and post it XD  
  
Thank you so much to my wonderful repeat-commenters. You guys n' gals truly kept me posting, when I might have tailed off due to the wonder of creative anxiety.

Thank you also to my wonderful partner, beta-reader, frequent dom and occasional sub. (All the same person <3 ) Could not have completed it without ya !

My go-to playlist whilst writing this :

**My Reid/McCullum Theme :** Don't Fear the Reaper by the Spiritual Machines. Partly used in the Story Trailer for the game, the various strings in the middle section added an uneasy, grating edge before the final release that was just so perfect.

**Fight Scenes **: Dragula & Others by Rob Zombie (Because of course)

**Others : **White Flag by Dido, Deception by the Cruxshadows.


	20. Post-Credits Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I could :)


	21. Coda: NSFW art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some HIGHLY NFSW art <3


End file.
